Soft is the Dawn
by SlverShdws
Summary: So Apocalypse has risen. Rogue brought him out. Now she's going to put him back. With the help of one saucy Cajun.
1. Radio Flyer

            A thin tendril of smoke wove its way upwards and was carried away by the light evening breeze. Across the calm water of the Sound the sun slowly sank towards the horizon in a brilliant mixture of reds and oranges. Night was quickly drawing down like a curtain; soon the entire island of Manhattan would be lit up with artificial lights from pulsing neon signs. Like the soundtrack from some early 90's movie, the song came blaring through the stillness of the scene, first with the steel rifts of a guitar, and then with the raspy vocals of some disenchanted pre-rock star.

"_. . . I'd like to say something . . . slow down the bandwagon. . . there's a million reasons I don't want to be here, but you don't know me well enough to be the last on my list. What did I miss? Yeah, you win the most points."_

            Shaking his head, Remy LeBeau took another drag from his cigarette and kept his eyes on the last moments of the sunset. 

            _"I hope you're getting this 'cause I don't know when I've been this good . . ."_

One of his . . . "co-workers", St. John, had a habit of playing his music four or five steps beyond loud. Numerous discussions and threats had failed to break the Aussie of the practice. It was only a matter of time before something else was broken instead. Or blown up.

            _"You don't know what it's like . . . what its like to be a slave and not get paid. Why don't you save it, don't even try to erase it. . . 'cause that's the way it is. . . And I hope it makes you sick, that I'm not even warmed up yet."_

The music cut out abruptly and the silence came rushing back in. It was shattered again by the sound of breaking glass. Remy turned his head and glanced over his left shoulder just in time to watch the small stereo make its crash landing on the rocks a few feet away from where he stood. Arching one slim eyebrow, he looked back towards the house from which he supposed it had flown from. From a distance of fifty feet or so, he could just make out two figures standing in the upper right window frame. A shaggy blond head stuck itself out and was followed almost immediately by a high pitched squeal of exclamation,

            "Holy HELL mate! Whadja go and do that for?!"

            The answer came in the form of an inhuman snarl.

            "Do ya see me going aroun' throwin' your bloody shit out the window?"

            Another growl, longer and more pronounced.

            "A'right, a'right. Put ya bleedin' fangs back in before ya put somebody's eye out. Bloody christ where the hell am I. . . ." the one-side conversation trailed off as the two figures moved away from the window. Sensing that the show was over, Remy turned back around, but not before a smirk had twisted his lips back.

By then the sun had nearly completely disappeared beneath the towering high rises of New York City. The light that remained was soft and dim. Soon a fine cloak of blackness would lay quietly over everything. People would step out in their fine clothes and jewelry and take part in all the things they had spent all day at work dreaming about. Expensive dinners, a cheap horror flick, three hours at the theater. The possibilities were endless. And so were the pickings. It was amazing how careless people could become of their possessions when they were partaking in a "night out on the town." Ah, the life of a thief in the city that never sleeps.

If he had been a cheap romance author, or anyone with any kind of vocabulary beyond various nonsense words, St. John would have described him as a rogue, the kind from seventh century literature. Standing in the dying light, with the water laid out before him like a blue velvet carpet and his long auburn hair and trench coat flying backwards in the breeze, the Cajun certainly fit the description of a suave, charming scoundrel. But the best that St. John could come up with as he stepped out onto the porch and saw his companion standing on the beach near the shattered remains of his beloved radio was, 

"Mate, you looks a bit like that fella from that movie with the flying and the slow-motion and the computer shit."

Without turning, Remy breathed in smoke, felt it burn the back of his throat, and then blew it back out slowly. "Oui? Remy touched you t'ink so, mon ami. Really."

Well-accustomed to his sarcasm, St. John shrugged it off and started forward. Without much hope he bent down to inspect the remains of what had been, at one lonely point in his young life, his best and only friend. All things considered, the damage wasn't terribly bad. Both speakers had broken off, along with a number of other bits and pieces that he didn't recognize as having any real purpose. The cd that had been in the middle of spinning before the impromptu flight had popped out and snapped in half. That was a bit of annoyance since it had been a mixed cd and Sabertooth had tossed his computer out the back window just a few nights earlier. Scratching at his head, John glanced up.

"So ya think we can fix her?"

Dropping his cigarette onto the sand, Remy crushed it out with his boot before looking over. His red eyes glowed despite the darkness and it gave him a menacing appearance. He gave a cursory inspection of the wreckage.

"Non. It look pretty dead to Remy."

John sighed. "I thought ya might say that. Poor girl," he murmured, bending closer to the plastic, "didn't really have a chance didja? Must've been right awful frightnin' for ya, flying through the air like that."

Remy listened to the Aussie converse with his broken radio for several minutes and was completely baffled as to what quality Magneto had seen in the boy that outweighed the amazingly obvious mental instability. The ability to manipulate fire certainly was impressive, but the fact that it was wielded by someone who spoke to inanimate objects was a tad bit unsettling. A little unnerving. Alright, downright scary as nothing else in the world or any other sub-dimensions. Though he had to admit that it was somewhat endearing the way the firestarter had so much attachment to his things. At least he was loyal. That was a trait not found often enough in the world. 

"Tell you what," Remy said, after John had been making statements about the nice funeral they would give "her", "Remy pick up sum tools when he in de city t'night and we see what we kin do for de bella, oui?"

Grinning widely, the Aussie leapt to his feet and would have engulfed him in a bear hug if he hadn't nimbly avoided his embrace. "That'd be damn right of ya mate! Appreciate it!" His eyes narrowed suddenly as rationality made one of its few guest appearances. "What are ya goin' inta the city for?"

Smiling slightly, Remy patted him on the shoulder as he brushed passed him. "_Comme si c'est n'importe quel de votre ami d'affaires." (As if it's any of your business, friend.)   _

Rolling his eyes at the smooth French, John scratched at the back of his head. Damn if French didn't bring out the fleas in him. "The boss ain't gonna like it if he comes back and finds you AWOL, mate."

Remy's stride remained unchecked, as if he hadn't even heard him. Leaning up against the house was a motorcycle of gleaming black and chrome that looked as if it had been freshly washed two hours before. And, if that wasn't a STRANGE coincidence, it had been. The bike wasn't technically his, but a small detail like that wasn't going to dissuade him. Very little that he owned had started out as his. Humming quietly to himself, he snatched the glossy ebony helmet off one of the handlebars and fitted it over his head. Then, flipping his coat back, he straddled the bike and brought it to life with one swift kick to the kick bar. The engine gave a low rumbling growl and roared to life with the smell of gasoline and exhaust.

"Pete ain't gonna like you takin' his bike!"

Glancing placidly over his shoulder, Remy lifted the face plate of the helmet. "Tell 'im dat Remy buy him 'nother Monet, oui." 

With that, he snapped the visor back down and took off with a twist of the gas and a cloud of dust.

***

_The Pirate Song by Gameface_


	2. In Time of Crisis, Run

            _You're the one who's always chokin' trojan. You're the one who's always . . . bruised and broken._

            If she stared up at the endlessness of the night sky for long enough, she could almost pretend that she was home.

            _Sleep may be the enemy, but so's another line. It's a remedy . . . you should take more time._

            Some people, particular one particularly annoying and vapid creature known to the world as Jean "I Have One Brain Cell" Grey, would argue with her that she was home. And though Rogue would much rather suffer through the Black Plague than to agree with her highness of haughtiness, she could see how the red headed telepath might form such an opinion. After all, she'd been at the Institute for almost two and a half years now. She'd fought alongside her teammates against a number of big bad . . . bad guys and more than earned her place as an X-man. All the people she trusted and cared about lived underneath the same roof. All but one. 

            _I understand the fascination. The dream that comes alive at night. But if you don't change your situation, then you'll die. Don't die. Don't die._

            But then, home was supposed to be a safe house. The single place in the world where you always feel comfortable and you always feel like you belong. Even though life at the Institute was comfortable, Rogue had never been able to shake the feeling that she was a fish out of water. Partly because of her background, partly because of her powers, and partly because of the inherent loneliness that she never seemed to be able to alleviate, no matter how many people she surrounded herself with. The only place she could remember being really and truly happy was within the fifteen miles of land that made up Caldecott County, Mississippi. It was where she had stolen another's life for the first time, but it was also the place where she had taken her first steps, ridden her first bike, faced her first rotten day of kindergarten. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember walking towards the school, her backpack riding high on her shoulders and her stomach somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. Irene had walked her to the front door, her white cane tapping a rhythmic beat on concrete. Then the tapping had stopped.

            She missed her guardian. She missed the smell of jasmine that permeated the air around her house. She missed the slow, easy way people took their time speaking. She missed everything. The hot sun, the murky air, the muddy waters of the Mississippi River, her _entire goddamn life before her "gift" had cropped up and ruined it all._

            Her hands curled unconsciously around the balcony railing and she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the anger burn through her. She could hear the stone cracking beneath her fingers and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths. Her head began to pound and her insides twisted violently. It wasn't _fucking fair. Nothing was. Why did she have to walk the earth as some godforsaken soul sucking leech?_

            Just as abruptly as it had come, the anger drained away and was replaced with the same tired, miserable feeling she carried around on her shoulders like a golden cross. Her fingers went lax on the railing, but not before putting ten new thin grooves into the stone. She opened her vivid green eyes and glanced down at her hands. Even though she was alone, she still kept her fine leather gloves tugged up to her elbows. One more layer to the untouchable Ice Goth.

            ". . . . . that there's something wrong."

            "Of course there's something wrong. The girl just unleashed the most powerful mutant to EVER walk the earth. Even though she was being controlled by Mesmero, I can't imagine she's feeling particularly happy right about now. I doubt you'd be a bundle of joy either. I mean, you get pissed when you trip on the stairs in the morning."

            At the sound of arguing voices, and the blatantly obvious reference to herself, Rogue leaned forward over the balcony for a closer look. She rolled her eyes at the couple that came strolling passed her window, completely unobservant as usual. 

            Jean and Scott walked hand in hand, talking in their annoyingly high pitched voices like the brainless dolts that they were. Did it even occur to them to look up and see if she was standing there BEFORE they started talking? Of course not! Honestly, Rogue didn't have any clue as to how Jean managed her telepathy. It was hardly any wonder the girl passed out after using her mutant ability. It had to be exhausting trying to exercise a brain the size and consistency of a rotten turnip.

            _Let's see now, Rogue thought, leaning her elbow on the railing and settling her chin in her hand. __Annoying voice, brainless dolt, brain the size of a turnip. That's three nearly consecutive Jean-bashing thoughts in a row. Not mah best recorah, but then they ain't done talkin' yet. She glanced around and frowned slightly. _Mahbe Ah outta be writin' these down.__

Scott stopped and turned, taking a moment to rub his hand behind his head in his typically gesture of deep intellectual thought. "Look, we're a team right? And when one of our members is down, we all need to pitch in and help right? That's all I'm saying."

            Jean slapped a hand to her forehead and resisted groaning. "She's a person Scott, not a rescue mission. Why don't you put your anal retentive squad leader uniform in the laundry and just give the girl some time to herself. The last thing she wants is to be bothered."

            _Well well, Dr. Grey. That's fifty points fer ya._

            "Since when do you have all this profound insight into Rogue? Two weeks ago we had to drag you off of her kicking and screaming something about mud pies and dog shit," he commented, pushing his ruby lenses further up his bulbous nose. Jean's eyes narrowed to thin slits as she recalled the incident.

            "Well, can you blame me? She put dog shit in my hair while I was sleeping! DOG SHIT! IN MY HAIR!! IN MY BEAUTIFUL RED HAIR SCOTT!!"

            _Okay, looks like mah time is done here. Turning away from the love birds before her snickering caught their attention, Rogue headed into the room she shared with Kitty and over to her stereo, thinking now was the perfect time to blast out a little Godsmack. Nothing like a little metal to level her mood. It was really too bad the Christina Aguilera's voice made her want to gouge her eyes out with toenail clippers. "Dirrty" really would have fit the situation._

            Before she could reach the on button though, Kitty came sliding through the door humming loudly to herself. The valley girl took one look at Rogue and beamed a mile wide grin that looked like it belonged on a patient in a mental ward.

            "Like, don't touch that dial! Did you forget what day it is?" she asked in her very bubbly voice. Rogue raised one pencil thin eyebrow and felt a nagging sense of impending doom.

            "What's todah?" she questioned warily, involuntarily glancing around for possible escape routes if the words "facial", "plucking", or "bonding" were mentioned. Another wide grin. Another smothering wave of doom.

            "Like it's totally N'SYNC Friday! All N'SYNC, all night long!"

            And with that, the Shadowcat bounced her way over to her own stereo and cranked it on to max volume. Instantly the cheery, disgusting sugar coated vocals came pouring into the room, threatening to eat away at the dark, moodiness that Rogue had spent so much effort cultivating.

            "Oh Mah Lord, who art in Heaven, hallowed by thy nahme."

            Holding her two index fingers out like a cross in front of her, Rogue blindly made a beeline for the door. She nearly broke it down in her haste to get it open, already feeling the cold chills of terror racing down her spine. The sight of Logan standing on the other side, one arm poised as if to knock brought her up short. He raised his bushy eyebrows at the look of extreme panic and horror that was splayed across her pale face.

            "N'SYNC Friday, eh Stripes?"

            Bobbing her head frantically, she stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her, trapping the god awfulness inside. Finally safe, she let out a long sigh.

            "Yeah."

            Shaking his head, Logan gave his own shudder and Rogue laughed lightly. The wolf-man had made his own feelings on the boy band phenomena abundantly clear once by hacking one of Kitty's prized cd's into fifty million pieces. Of course, then he had felt guilty and shown his soft side by giving her three more for her sixteenth birthday.

            Taking a careful, concern study of her face he could see the faint line between her brows that meant she was feeling annoyed, angry, upset, or some variation on that theme. He was worried about her; the last couple months had been particularly rough on her. In fact, nothing in her tenure as an X-man had been smooth sailing for the teen. _Kid probably feels smothered in her, every one walkin' around her on eggshells, trying to avoid bringin' up Apocalypse._ Reaching into his pocket, he made an impulse decision that he figured he would pay for later either in blood or money. But the misery in her green eyes was enough to compel him. He lifted his left arm and dangled a set of keys in front of her. She stared back at him, not comprehending.

            "Go on, get outta here. Just don't get you and anyone else killed." He paused, and then added sternly, "Unless you absolutely have to."

 Blinking slowly, she stared at him for another few seconds out of sheer disbelief. Then she snatched the keys from his hand before he could retract the offer. She had been wanting to get away from the mansion for a while now but something had always come up. Injuries, random acts of possession. 

            "Thanks Logan." Her eyes lifted to meet his and they lightened slightly as she smiled. "Ah 'preciate it. Ah'll be careful. Ah promise."

            "Famous last words kiddo. Remember. No killin' unless you have to."

            "Gotcha."  

****

_Commercial For Levi's_ by Placebo


	3. One for the Road

To an overwhelmed, wide eyed tourist, New York City at night was a display of flashing lights, honking yellow taxi cabs, and endless streams of beautiful people. Doors opened, spilling waves of music and conversation out into the street with every swing. Young men strutted about in packs, trying to catch the wandering eyes of young women or other men. Laughter rang out, horseplay ensued, and the city was the center of fast, exciting, fulfilling life.

On the surface, anyway.

Underneath the polish and the glamour was a nasty monster waiting to rear its ugly head and swallow its unsuspecting victims whole. Suspicion ran through the crowds of people like some airborne disease. Second glances were followed up by unspoken questions, some backed by naivety. _What about that one? How the hell do you tell?_ Some backed by viciousness. _I'll teach those freaks to steps foot in my neighborhood. I never liked those punks anyway. Dirty filthy scum. Faces and bodies were scanned with intensity, differences noted and filed. Fear pulsed like a heartbeat as they struggled to come to grips with the reality that had been exposed to them only a few months before._

Mutants were real.

What to do about it?

_I'm not looking for an answer, anymore. I'm not looking for a visionary, help me Mother Mary I've done my time. I'm closer every day to a life, of. . .  . crime  . . ._

Like the old speakeasies back in the troublesome times of Prohibition, there were a number of bars and establishments that catered to the shunned. Mostly those run by mutants themselves; mutants who wanted to provide an hour or two of protection for their own kind. Still, collections of mutant groups filled the air with quiet tension. Something akin to a group of people sitting around a nuclear weapon while a two year old played with the trigger.

Remy didn't really care about the atmosphere. All he wanted was a game or two of pool, a couple glasses of bourbon, and a few hours away from the scheme of world domination. It was amazing how quickly it became tiresome listening to various lectures on how mankind needed to be suppressed by the superior mutant race, spoken by a man who wore a tin hat on his head. Sometimes Remy had trouble remembering what had enticed him to join Magneto's band of merry men.

Oh wait. Escape from guild wars and almost certain death. Right.

_The God above us in every way, you know He watches all the people die. Killing them as others waste all their time in asking why. Time is all we're given and the happiness we seek, it may be the beast within the meek or maybe the statement of the freak._

Taking a sip from his glass, he set it down on the edge of the table and lazily took aim with his pool cue. He drew it back smoothly and sent the white sphere spinning towards the neatly made triangle of balls. It crashed into them with a satisfying _crack, sending colors flying off in different directions. Of fifteen, fourteen spun off into the pockets, almost simultaneously. The eight ball rolled lazily down the table, coming to a rest at the edge of a corner pocket. _

A scattering of applause came from the small group of spectators that always seemed to be around pool tables.

_And don't be fooled, don't be flattered. It's not like you ever mattered. When the world around is falling down, and every ships been shattered._

Remy tapped the eight ball in and gave a small bow before handing his cue to the next person waiting to play a round. He picked up his glass and headed back to the bar, nodding lightly to the various "nice shot" comments that followed him. 

_Don't be fooled, don't be flattered. It's not like you ever mattered, not to me. Rick James was the original superfreak._

The bartender had seen his approach and had a fresh shot waiting for him by the time he made it up to the stretch of mahogany. Setting his empty glass down, Remy picked up the new one and swirled the amber color liquid lightly, trying to decide if getting drunk could be construed as constructive at that point. After all, the equivalent to a god had just been ushered into the twenty-first century and he seemed awful keen on redecorating. For the first time in his twenty-one years, he felt unsure and . . . and a little afraid. He had felt Apocalypse's power first hand; had watched the first mutant brush aside the combined strength of the X-men and the Acolytes. If they couldn't have any affect on him, there wasn't any chance the largest armies in the world could stand up to him. Countries would fall like dominoes. How could they not? It was hard not to want to run anywhere, so long as it was away. But Remy knew you could run forever and still be in the same place. Besides, where would he go? There wasn't anywhere in the world that would be safe. And could he really just turn his head and do nothing? He was a thief. Morals weren't really his strong point. That didn't mean he could condone the death of innocents. Then again, there weren't really all that many innocents left in the world. 

Sighing, he tipped his glass back and drained it, closing his eyes as the liquid burned its way down his throat. All this philosophical thinking made his head hurt. And it made him question things about himself, things that he'd rather not think about. He raised his head to signal for a refill when he noticed that someone familiar had just come through the front door. His curiosity was instantly peeked.

Rogue stood in the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the bar's occupants as if she were daring one of them to so much as utter a word to her. Remy wasn't sure why he did it, but he averted his eyes, sliding into the corner so that she wouldn't notice him. Then he watched her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that last time she had noticed him, she'd left him unconscious. But he didn't think so.

When no one approached her, she visibly relaxed and moved over to the bar where she leaned over the counter and said something to the bartender. The thief couldn't hear what it was, but he saw him slide open a cooler and come up with a bottle of Corona. The bartender snapped off the cap and held it out to her. She lifted one finger and pointed at something. Smacking his forehead with his empty hand, the bartender reached down, picked up a slice of lime, and tucked it in the neck of the bottle. Then he said something that had her laughing as she accepted the beer. Remy raised his eyebrows in surprise; she looked . . . . different with a smile. After take a slow pull from the bottle, Rogue headed towards the back of the bar. And had his eyebrows shooting up further.

_Now I'm not trying to be rude, but hey pretty girl I'm feeling you. The way you do the things you do, reminds me of my Lexus coupe. _

Some girls walked, some swayed, some sauntered. He'd seen it done a thousand different ways for a thousand different reasons. Flirtatious, seduction, power. But he'd never quite seen anyone move the way Rogue moved.

_This is the remix to ignition . . ._

Slow, lazily really-

_ . . . hot and fresh out the kitchen . . ._

-like she didn't even know-

_. . .  momma rollin' that body got every man in here wishin'. . ._

-what it did to a man to see those slim hips shifting back and forth and-

_ Sippin' on coke and rum, I'm like so what I'm drunk. It's the freakin' weekend baby I'm a about to have me some fun._

"Garçon? A bottle of dis." He watched her settle at a table in the corner, far away from anyone else. "And two glasses, s'il vous plaît."

***

_Rick James by Jude_

_Ignition (remix) by R. Kelly_


	4. Sometimes its Best Just to Shut Up

_You run, run, run away. It's your heart that you betray. Feeding all your hungry eyes. I bet you're not so civilized. _

_Well isn't love primitive. A wild gift that you want to give. Break out of captivity. _

_Shooting at the walls of heartache. BANG BANG. I am the warrior. Well I am the warrior. And heart to heart you'll win. If you survive. The warrior. The WARRIOR!_

"Gawd, Ah hate that song," Rogue muttered to herself, rubbing at her temple where a headache was brewing. Seemed like lately she always had one. She could feel the psyches swarming around inside of her mind like hordes of ants. It just figured. Professor Xavier had given so much effort in clearing her mind and a couple weeks later, BAM! The crowd comes rushing back with a few newbies. Her rotten goddamn luck. 

She had almost gotten used to the silence. Being able to hear herself think and not having to wonder if she was being subtly influenced by Kitty. Or Kurt. Or Magneto. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering just who Rogue was. Well, that wasn't true. Rogue was a sarcastic, well-trained member of the X-men. The real person she had trouble holding onto was the person she had been _before life had gone awry. _

Closing her eyes, she lifted the bottle of Corona to her lips and sipped the bitter liquid. _Ah keep thinkin' like this and Ah'll end up jumpin' offa bridge or somethin'. Then the world would be defenseless against the boy band conspiracy. _She chuckled humorlessly to herself and opened her eyes again. The jukebox that was pouring out the campy eighties song was directly in her line of vision.

There was some perks to having an entire menagerie of powers under ones control. 

The music abruptly changed mid-power cord.

_Welcome to the jungle, we've got fun and games. We've got everything you want, honey, we know the names._

_Much bettah._

_We are the people that can find whatever you may need. If you got the money, honey, we got your disease. In the jungle, welcome to the jungle. Watch it bring you to your kn-kn-kn-knees. Knees. I, I wanna watch you bleed._

"You know sumthin'? I'd say this song suits you perfectly."

Tilting her head slightly, Rogue slid her gaze up and found an attractive young man standing at her table, his white teeth displayed in a friendly smile. His black hair was gelled up into short spikes with electric blue tips. He wore loose black pants and a shirt that declared, Rehab Is For Quitters. There were an assortment of piercings, tattoos, and jewelry spaced out over his slightly blocky body. She found herself smiling back at him.

"Ah like it."

_Welcome to the jungle, we take it day by day. If you want it your gonna bleed, but that's the price you pay. _

He motioned to one of the chairs at her table. "Any of these free?" he asked, with a casual wink.

_And you're a very sexy girl, that's very hard to please. You can taste the bright lights but you won't get them for free._

Leaning back on her chair slightly, Rogue wetted her lips with her tongue and took a sip from her beer. "They're all yours sugah."

His grin spread further and he placed one hand on his hip. "Thanks! You're a doll. My boyfriend absolutely _hates_ standing. Later!" And with that he grabbed hold of two of the chairs and carried them both away to another table, where another young man was standing impatiently with his arms crossed over his chest. Rogue stared at them both for a long moment, then rolled her eyes and laughed at herself. Honestly, what the hell had she been almost expecting anyway? Romance in an instant? Jesus, living with Kitty was really melting her brain.         

"'Dat be his loss and Remy's gain, cherie."

She turned her head and watched the tall, lanky Cajun she knew only be sight slip into the remaining chair across from her, just as the music blasting out of the jukebox made another abrupt shift.

_A who da man dat love to make you moist and wet (Uh). A who da man that love to make you moan and sweat (Uh). A who da man dat love to make you scream out "yes", naw (Mr. Lover). Sugar._

Propping a hand underneath her chin, Rogue met his strange gaze steadily, carefully controlling her expression while trying to imagine all the various reason that he could be there. There wasn't a whole lot that she knew about him, other than the fact that he worked for Magneto and that technically made him a bad guy. But then Apocalypse was a much bigger bad guy and the Professor had made mention that they may be working with the tin can man and his band of misfits again. Well, that wasn't all she knew, but the rest was pretty much a jumble of nearly incoherent thoughts and memories she had pulled from him when she had absorbed him.

_Sweet, succulent, and fine, a twinkling eye on my darling divine. I love the way you move all the way you're designed_

"What would you do if Ah told you ta get the hell away from meh before Ah put mah foot up your ass?"

He pursed his lips and seemed to give it thought. Then he shrugged lightly, ruffling the collar of his trench coat. Why the hell was he wearing that thing inside anyway? Did he have an extra arm or something he needed to keep hidden?"

_Now let me hit you off with this question sign._

"Dunno. Nevah see a movie where dat happen."

_You seem to be the type for me to wine and dine. A little candlelight dinner toasted over some wine. Well I'll hit you off with this lyrical rhyme._

"Do you base all your actions on things that happen in movies?"

"Don't everybody?"

Shrugging, she lifted her bottle and drained the last of the liquid from it. Setting it down on the table, she glanced over towards the bar and wondered why the hell she had decided to sit so far away from the freaking thing. She didn't want to get up for a refill because it meant turning her back on the cocky boy that had recently added himself to her company. Bad guy or not, she didn't turn her back on anyone.

There was the sound of something sliding across the table towards her and she glanced down in time to see a shot glass filled with an amber liquid come to a stop in front of her. Raising an eyebrow, she looked over at him, but he was sitting with his body turned away from her, his gaze taking in the rest of the room while his hand brought a shot glass to his lips. In the center of the table there was a bottle of Southern Comfort. A smile lifted her lips while at the same time she had to wonder if this was some kind of angle. Was he looking to get her drunk so he could pump her for information? Or was it just an innocent encounter? He wasn't threatening her nor was he being particularly bothersome. Actually, there was something comforting about his presence. Something she recognized about him. 

She studied him openly; her pale green eyes wary yet curious. Somehow, without even knowing he had done it, this dark stranger had managed to give her something she had desperately needed, something that no one at the Institute had ever been able to give. Company without the strained, annoying need for chit chat that drove her to avoid most people. It seemed like people up north just couldn't go two seconds without opening their mouths. She missed just sitting around with someone, knowing she could talk if she wanted to but didn't _have to. That the silence could stretch on and on without becoming tense and uncomfortable.  _

He barely seemed to acknowledge that she was there. His devil colored eyes drifted lazily around the smoke filled room, never lingering. Every so often he took a sip from his shot glass. And when his gaze finally wandered back to hers, the corner of his lips curved and he raised his thick auburn eyebrows as if to say, _You done yet?_

"It's Gambit," she stated after a moment, pulling the name up from the murkiness of his memories, "right?"

Again he gave half a shrug and leaned back in his chair. One hand slipped inside his coat and came out with a slim silver cigarette case. 

"Remy," he corrected, holding up the case as a silent bid for permission. Rogue wrinkled her nose but nodded. He removed a long black stick from the case, set it in between his lips, and then snapped his fingers near the tip. A spark jumped from his hand to the tobacco and he took a long drag.

"Remy LeBeau. Gambit is for business hours only, cherie."

***

_The Warrior by Scandal_

_Welcome to the Jungle by Guns 'n Roses_

_Mr. Lover Lover by Shaggy feat. Janet_

Author's Note**

          Bad news I'm afraid. I'm going to be slow with the updates for a few weeks. I cracked a rib and it's gonna take a month or so for it to heal. It's surprising how much typing hurts. Plus I'm going to be moving down into NYC to go back to school and I need to work on a writing portfolio for this conservatory I'm going into. Fun fun. I'll try not to take too long. Don't want to jeopardize my . . . . crack bunny status?


	5. Flirting Is Dangerous Business

            Author's Note**

            How did I break my ribs? Funny story actually…..I broke onto the set of Dead Like Me and Ellen Muth beat the shit out of me….so, just as a little advice, keep yourself out of restricted areas!

            _The devil went down to __Georgia__, he was looking for a soul to steal._

He tapped ash from the end of his cigarette and kept his strangely glowing eyes on her.

            _He was in a bind, cause he was way behind, and he was willing to make a deal.  When he came across a young man sawing on a fiddle and playing it hot. And the devil jumped up on a hickory stump and said,_

"An' you be de Rogue, oui? You got an off-duty name, cherie?"

            She narrowed her eyes slightly at his tone, feeling a mixture of suspicion and annoyance slither through her. The recent demise of the tin can man Magneto had spread through the mansion like a rancid fungus. And with his lord and master gone, there didn't seem to be any reason the red eyed thief would still be gathering information for him. But then again, he had that shifty, slicker fingered, alley-cat look to him that a sensible Southern gal just didn't trust. 

            "No," she answered shortly, "it's just Rogue." As an afterthought, she scowled at him and added with a bit of a bite, "And don't call me cherie."

            Remy held up his hands in mock surrender, smiling in a way that gave her the sinking feeling that he was not very good at following requests. That meant she was probably going to have to put a boot or two in his face at some point. Which was almost a shame because when he wasn't leering at her, he did have quite a pretty face. Sharp and finely chiseled with thick auburn hair and those interesting eyes. But, a sensible Southern gal just never said no to violence. 

            He stubbed the remaining length of his cigarette out on the table and poured himself another shot of bourbon. 

            "You lookin' awfully young ta be out dis late drinkin', ch . . ." he paused deliberately, and then winked. "Rogue."

            Her eyes narrowed and she could feel her teeth begin to mash together. God arrogance was so annoying and people, Cajuns to be specific, were so . . . . so . . . . frustrating when you didn't have a .44 shotgun to shut them up with.

            God she missed her .44. 

            "What are you diggin' fer? You got new employment already?"

            There was an imperceptible shift in his eyes but she caught the flash of surprise, followed by wariness before they went blank again. _He doesn't know,_ Rogue thought, and struggled to keep from smiling. It was surprising how nice it felt to have something over him.

            "Touche, touché. Me' be Remy jus' not want ta be caught aidin' and abettin' underage drinkin'."

            Rogue snorted. "Ya don't strike meh as the type who concerns himself with 'legalities'." She paused and leaned forward on the table. "Ya even know what legalities are?"

            With his shot glass halfway to his lips, Remy cocked one thick eyebrow.

            "Now you jus' tryin' to hurt ol' Remy's feelin's. Dat not very nice, 'specially since he bring you dis nice piece offerin'," he pointed out, motioning towards the bottle sitting between them.

            Tossing back a drink of her own, Rogue matched his gaze squarely, never one to worry about manners. 

            "Yeah, an offerin' that has the possibility of gettin' meh drunk so ya can take advantage of meh," she retorted sourly.

            Grinning slyly, Remy nimbly plucked one of her hands off the table and held it inches away from his lips. She tugged on it immediately, but he held it in a firm grasp, enjoying the way her clear green eyes seemed to smolder and her jaw clenched with obvious annoyance. He didn't mind being annoying. It was usually the best way to get results. 

            "Remy knew dere be some benefits ta peace, cherie," he crooned, placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles. 

            _When the devil finished Johnny said "well you're pretty good old son. But sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how its done."_

            In response, she stood up and shoved him off of his chair. Taken by surprise, he tumbled backwards and lay sprawled out on the floor, his thick coat tangled about him. The entire room quieted instantly as conversations cut off and attentions were diverted. She pushed her hair back away from her face and grabbed her long coat from off the back of her chair. Reaching down, Rogue snatched up her glass, drained it, and then tossed it back onto the table.

            "Don't call me cherie." She started passed him and then stopped and smirked. "Oh, and thanks for the drink."

            A light scattering of applause followed her as she pushed her way towards the exit. Remy propped himself up on his elbows and watched her retreating figure with astonishment splayed across his face. In all of his twenty years, he'd never had a belle respond to him quite like that. There'd been slaps to the face, weak punches, and the occasional clawing and scratching. (That wasn't always a bad thing, though.) Of course, all those kinds of hitting were just a woman's way of letting him know that she wanted to be pursued, without letting anyone else know. 

            He wasn't getting that feeling from Rogue. No, it felt a lot like she wanted him to stay the hell away from her. Chuckling quietly, he shook his head and started to push himself to his feet. A hand extended towards him; when he glanced up he saw the young man who had borrowed a chair from cherie's table.

            "Doesn't look like she's feeling you at all, honey," the youth said.

            Clasping onto the young man's hand, Remy pulled himself up and brushed down the front of his coat. Then he took a deep breath and winced slightly. He pressed a hand to the spot when she had touched him. It was already tender. Probably be a nasty bruise. She hadn't even bothered to pull her punch. He gave a short laugh of disbelief and shook his head again.

            "Non, it don't look like it," Remy agreed, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

            The young man gave him a long look over and found himself faced with a bit of a dilemma. It was true that he had a boyfriend, a very cute and very nearby boyfriend. But they just didn't grow them in New York like they did in the South and not even a straight man would walk away from a Cajun with a face like this one's.

            "Say," he said, lightly brushing against Remy's arm, "why don't you join me for a drink or three dozen? I can promise you that I'm a whole lot less challenging than that woman."

            "Je suis désolé, mon ami." (I'm sorry, friend.) Remy's eyes were still fixed on the door that Rogue had left from. He turned his head slightly to grin at the young man who had just propositioned him. "But 'dere ain't nothin' Remy enjoy more den a challenge. But thanks for de offer."

            The young man watched as the Cajun adjusted his trench coat and headed in the same direction the girl had. Jesus that boy had one fine walk. And if he caught up with her, he was betting on the Cajun being able to change her opinion of him.

            "Anytime, sweetie," he said to himself with all his disappointment. "Anytime."

******

            _Devil Went Down to __Georgia, by Charlie Daniels Band_

                        ******P.S. I was kidding about the whole Dead Like Me Thing. 


	6. The Pain of Memory

            Author's Note**

                        I just figured I should warn you guys. This is not a typical funny chapter of mine. It's pretty dark and gloomy. The next one's probably going to be pretty violent. So, just as a heads up.

The moon had slipped behind a slow moving patch of clouds and the lamps that lined the streets did their best to illuminate the darkness that lay heavy over them. Like a deep exhale the wind whistled quietly between buildings, bringing with it the chill of the oncoming winter. 

            _It's getting colder, in this ditch where I lie. I'm feeling older and I'm wondering why._

Though it was only October, store fronts were already displaying gleaming decorations of Christmas. Tiny faces had spent all day pressing their cheeks against the glass cases. At midnight the prints still had yet to be washed off. A job for the morning crew. 

            _I heard them tell her, it was say and live or die. I didn't know her, but I know why she lied._

            Rogue pulled her coat closer around her and stuck her gloved hands in the deep pockets. The cold air burned her nose and the back of her throat as she took in a deep breath of the autumn air. She could feel the chill seeping into her bones. Her joints ached and her skin chapped.

            _I didn't know her, but I know why she died._

            Fuck, she hated winter. Give her the hot muggy nights on the Mississippi any day. Or night.

            Thinking of the slowing moving river reminded her of the Cajun she had left laid out on the barroom floor behind her. She smirked. The look on his face when his ass had hit the floor. It was nearly as priceless as the look on Jean's face when she had awoke to find dirt and muck, and other nasty things, packed into her long hair. The memory of the prom queen shrieking in horror with eyes bulging out like some Saturday morning cartoon made her chuckle. And she had video taped it, too.

            Her amusement faded quickly though; the melancholy she had started the evening with pressing on her shoulders slipped back in. After school specials had always said that alcohol doesn't solve problems, but she was still hopeful to prove that wrong some day.

            _I heard them they, dreams should stay in your head. Well, I feel ashamed of, the things that I've said._

            Inside her pocket her fingers toyed with the keys to Logan's bike. Chances were that Kitty had passed out by then and some brave, or stupid, soul (Kurt most likely) had ventured into the disaster area to shut off her stereo. She didn't really want to go back to the mansion. It had ceased to be a place of refuge for her and was starting to feel a lot more like a prison. A comfortable prison, but one all the same. 

            _Put on these chains and you can live a free life. _

            But Rogue was tired of wandering in and out of clubs and bars, trying to drown out the noise in her head with loud music, loud people, and loud amounts of liquor. There was no where else she could think of going and had come to the conclusion that there was no way to turn of the thoughts inside her head that didn't belong to her. Not unless she wanted to take Logan's bike and drive it off the east side pier and into Long Island Sound. Then she could let the cold waters close over her head like a blanket, slowly muffling the voices until there was finally only silence. 

            _I've started feeling, like I don't want to fight. Just give in to the given, and put out the light._

She considered it for a moment; sometimes she didn't feel like she had the strength to keep fighting for a life that didn't seem worth it. Fear held her back from the edge though. It always did. But she wasn't afraid of it as much as she had once been. It was starting to hurt too much to be afraid.

            Fuck it, she was going back to the mansion. If she stayed out any longer she was liable to throw herself in front of a meter car or something. And if by some evil misguided plot of the devil Kitty was still up and still N'syncing, she'd take a page from Pyro's book of insane babble and burn the place down.

Rogue took one step in the direction of Logan's bike and then frozen when a high pitched scream tore through the night with a vicious clarity. Without thinking she sniffed at the air and caught a heady, rolling mixture of filth, sweat, alcohol, and rose petals. Underneath it was the overwhelming scent of lust and hunger. She turned on her heel and followed it, unable to stop herself.

            She'd smelled it once before. A long time before.

            Her nose led her to the bawdy sound of drunken laughter and the quiet whimpering of terror.

            She'd heard both before. A long time before.

            Her ears led her to a length of street where all the lights had been knocked out; it was too dark to even read the street sign. But the voices were clear and sharp enough to serve as a beacon.

            "Help me! FOR GODSAKE SOMEONE HELP ME!"

            "Scream all you like, girl. Ain't nobody gonna come save you." More of that horribly grating laughter.

 Rogue's head began to throb in the same steady pounding as her heart. She could hear it drumming in her ears, could feel the blood rushing through her body. Still she moved towards the alleyway, towards the memory that was fighting to surface. 

Don't scream honey. I'sa won't hurt you none.

The thick soles of her heavy boots crunched over bits of broken glass, crushing them into powder.

Come here baby. You've been a good girl, and good girls deserve rewards.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

No. . . . no, please. Leave me alone. Don't!

Shhhh, baby. Daddy won't hurt you.

Down the alleyway, nearly completely shrouded in darkness, three men stood surrounding a weeping young woman, no more than seventeen, who in terror had backed herself into a dead end. Strips of ripped cloth were strewn about on the ground; the largest pieces of what had been a school uniform, were still covering her trembling frame. One of the men was peeling of a sweat stained t-shirt, revealing a once toned body that was beginning to go soft and bloated with beer and baseball.

At the sight of his bare chest the girl's trembling and weeping increased to desperate proportions. Shaking her head violently she wrapped her arms around her stomach and tried in vain to push herself through the brick wall behind her.

"Help me! Please, somebody help me!"

He grinned maliciously at her, the whites of his eyes and teeth the only thing visible in the night.

"Scream girl," he repeated as he stepped closer, aroused by her obvious fright. His mind was tangled with alcohol, cocaine, and the frustrations of being nobody.

 "Scream for me. Nobody'll come." He reached out one large, fleshy hand towards her but it never reached its mark. He cried out in pain as slender fingers encircled his wrist and pressed down hard enough to grind bone against bone.

"Think again, sugah."

***

_            This Time Around_ by Hanson


	7. The White Stripes

_ La lune trop blême pose un diadème sur tes cheveux roux._

From the first moment he had open his mouth at age six months, Remy LeBeau had been known as a charmer. That reputation had only grown as he had changed from a squirming, flush faced baby into a slim, smart mouthed teenager, and ultimately into a tall, lanky, slick-fingered, smooth talking man. Down in New Orleans young women gossiped about the Diable, partially in warning, and partially in challenge. They flocked to him, intrigued by his burning red eyes, attracted to his handsome face and toned body, and allured by his status as heir to the infamous Thieves' Guild. He didn't mind the attention; how could he? He was a man who enjoyed the softness a woman's skin, the scent of spicy perfume, the higher pitch of a feminine voice. But he did have to admit, and he would only admit this to himself, it had been getting a little tiring being seen as a boy toy. Cruel, how women only wanted him for his . . . . talents.

_La lune trop rousse de gloire éclabousse ton jupon plein trous._

            He maneuvered his way through the crowd of people in the bar and shouldered open the front door. A blast of cold air whipped in, slapping against his exposed face and sending chills through him. With a little yelp of surprise he jumped back, letting the door slam shut again. The bartender glanced up from the beer mug he had been drying and raised his thick eyebrows at the Cajun.

            "What's the problem buddy?"

            Remy pushed a hand through his thick hair. "It be cold out 'dere, garcon."

            The bartender rolled his eyes and shot him a funny look. "No shit Sherlock. It's nearly winter."

            Frowning, Remy tugged his coat closer about him and flipped up his collar. "Not where Remy be from," he muttered to himself. He approached the exit doors again, this time like a man approaching a den of wild rabid dogs. Briefly it entered his mind that he could simply stay there; warm himself up with bourbon and some pretty lady who was willing to share her flat with him. There really wasn't any reason to go venturing out into the cold. Except for Rogue.

            _La lune trop pâle caresse l'opale de tes yeux blasés.  Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur bless?_

            He knew it was typical machismo but the fact that she had not only not swooned over him but had outright rejected his modest advances had . . . well . . . bruised his ego. It might have turned some other guys off but it only made Remy all the most interested in cracking those seemingly formidable defenses. Besides, it had been a while, a number of months in fact, since he'd been with anyone. Skills that were unused were skills that became lax, or so Jean Luc had always said.

            _Petite mandigotte je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main.__ Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine._

            Sighing to himself, Remy bent his head and pushed his way out the door and onto the streets. The wind greeted him for a moment and then died down. Kind of a shame. A billowing trench coat always made him look so dramatic. He turned his head to the left and then the right but saw no sign of Rogue. A small group of young women stood near the bar's entrance, taking puffs from cigarettes and chattering while they shifted from one leg to another in an attempt to stay warm. Remy put on his suavest smile and stepped up to them.

            _J'oublie mon chagrin. _

            "Pardon, belles, but Remy seem to have lost his femme. Any of you see a girl with white streaks go past? She probably look pretty pissed," he supplied with good humor. 

            _Je sens sur tes lèvres une odeur de fièvre de gosse mal nourrie._

            One of the girls nodded her head vigorously and jerked her hand to the right. "Yeah, she went that way. And you're right. She did look pissed. I think you're going to have to come up with a pretty damn good gift to win her back," she advised, returning his smile.

            Remy scratched at his chin and pretended to think it over. "A gift, oui? Make-up sex be de best gift, non?" he asked slyly, with an exaggerated wink. 

            _Et__ sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse __qui m'anéantit._

Another one of the girls let out a low whistle. "With you I bet it is."__

He flashed another grin and gave a short wave. "Merci, belles. Now Remy mus' go win de heart of 'is femme," he said, mockingly holding a hand over his heart as he started in the direction the girl had pointed.

 From behind him he heard one of them call out, "Good luck!" 

Funny. Luck was just the lady he dealt with most often. 

Another blast of cold wind came barreling down the street to chill his bones.

Fuck he hated winter. Give him the hot muggy nights on the Delta anytime. 

"And here's Jaime with the latest in entertainment news. Jaime, what's going on in the world of glitz and glamour?"

A few blocks down Remy stopped in front of a store window filled with different sized televisions just as the screen switched from two news journalists sitting behind an oval shaped desk to a bleached blonde woman standing with a backdrop of the city behind her.

"Well, Steve, it looks like the music industry has yet another tragedy to add to its history. This afternoon Jack and Meghan White, the founding members of the recently popular musical duo, the White Stripes, were killed when the scooter they were riding double on collided with a delivery truck. The driver of the truck, a Mr. Black Line, was in the middle of delivering a shipment of Crest Whitening Strips to a local Wal-mart when Mr. White, who was operating the scooter, crossed over the double yellow stripe and crashed head on into said truck. It is not known at this time whether or not the Whites were indeed consumers of the Crest Whitening Strips or if they did actually prefer the Colgate Whitening Paste. Irony is so cruel. Back to you Steve and Amy."

Remy tilted his head and idly wondered if Rogue listened to the White Stripes. It didn't seem likely that she would be into that kind of nonsensical garbage. She seemed a much more heavy metal, rock 'n roll kind of girl. He blinked and then laughed at himself. What the hell did he care what kind of music she listened to? It wasn't like he was planning on going Christmas shopping for her.

_Mais voil?qu'il flotte _la lune qu'il flotte. La princesse aussi_ l_a la la la la la la la la la_ _mon___ rêve évanoui._

The high pitched scream startled him and broke him free of his reverie. Something he had never felt before clutched at his chest and he took off running with only one thought racing through his brain.

She was in trouble.

***

Her vision was stained with red and the man's cries fell on deaf ears as she began to slowly twist his wrist in a clockwise direction. He fell to his knees and grabbed hold of her arm but couldn't manage to pry it away.

_God money I'll do anything for you. God money just tell me what you want me to. _

"Help me," he gasped to his friends standing just a few feet away. Rogue watched with cold detachment as the three other men turned away from the girl they had cornered and started towards her. She continued to turn his arm as they approached, feeling the muscles and tendons under his skin bunch and tear. The three men moved cautiously, their eyes pinned on her. They fanned out and surrounded her, and then began to close in. Meanwhile the man in her clutches breathing heavily, sweat beads gathering on veins that bulged on his forehead. 

_God money nail me up against the wall. God money don't want everything he wants it all._

"Bitch," he breathed, feeling white hot pain shoot down his arm and throughout his entire body. He didn't like the sensation at all. "Bitch, I'll kill you. I'll ki-"

She wrenched his arm and snapped bone as easily as a wishbone on a turkey. 

_No you can't take it__, no you can't take it. No you can't take that away from me._

He barked out in agony and fell forward like a boulder onto the hard cement. At the same time his three friends all leapt for her, all thinking the same thing. One girl against three grown men was easy prey. She may have held her own against one man she had taken by surprise but chances were she'd scream and run or be paralyzed with fear, just like the one before, when faced with them at the same time. The savage beat of hunters pounded through their heads as they lashed out at what they thought was their next meal. 

_No you can't take it__, no you can't take it! You can't take that away from me!_

But Rogue wasn't willing to play that role. With a nearly inhuman snarl she took one step to her left and reached out with both her gloved hands. They curled around a shirt front and, using the man's own momentum, she swung him around and into one of his friends. Bodies collided in mid-air with a sickening thud and fell to the ground. 

_Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die, than give you control. Head like a hole, black as your soul, I'd rather die, than give you control._

The third man caught her around the shoulders with one arm and quickly wrapped the other around her neck. For a moment, as she felt his forearm cut off her air supply and yellow dots danced before her eyes Rogue felt the panic of being physically overwhelmed pour into her. She struggled ineffectually as hysterics threatened. And then training snapped ruthlessly back into place.

_Bow down before the one you serve. You're going to get what you deserve. _

Rogue let her shoulders go lax then reached up and grabbed hold of her attacker's hair. She let her legs go limp underneath her, putting him off balance with the sudden addition of her full weight. He tumbled forward with her and his hold on her loosened momentarily. One moment was long enough for her to jab her elbow into his stomach. His breath came out in a great whoosh and as he doubled over, she used the hand that was still tangled in his hair to snap his head down onto her shoulder bone. There was a loud crack as his jaw broke. He slid off of her back and to the ground without another sound. 

_God money's not looking for the cure. God money not concerned about the sick amongst the pure. _

She wasn't done. Unaware that she was dragging in air like a woman drowning, Rogue stepped toward the leader, toward the man who was trying his best to crawl away from her, cradling his broken wrist and fighting to see through the tears in his eyes. 

_God money let's go dancing on the backs of the bruised, god money's not one to choose._

"Wha—Wha—do you want?" he blubbered as he watched her stalk him, green eyes burning in the darkness. He bumped against the alley wall and she came to a stop inches away, towering over him like an Amazon queen. Narrowing those eyes dangerously, she set one booted foot against an empty crate near his shoulder and leaned down so she stared into his face.

_No you can't take it. No you can't take it. No you can't take that away from me! _

"What do Ah want? Ah think the question is, what did you want, sugah?" she asked with falsely sugary voice. His bloodshot gaze slid over to the young woman still cowering in the shadows at the back of the alley. 

_No you can't take it. No YOU CAN'T take it. No you can't TAKE that away from me!_

"I jus—just wanted to ha—have some fun."__

Rogue leaned forward until he could see the blackness of her pupils. One of her snow white locks brushed against the skin of his forehead and she chuckled quietly.

 "Fun, huh? Ah'll show ya some fun." She lifted one hand up toward his face and he jerked back involuntarily. But she made no move to strike him. She simply held up one hand, fingers outstretched, in front of his face. He stared at her over them, feeling his heart racing so quickly in his chest that he wouldn't have been surprised if it had burst straight out of his chest. Slowly her lips twisted into a smile and she wiggled her fingers harmlessly. He felt his own lips twitch in response.

_Head like a hole, black as your soul. I'd rather DIE than give you control! Head like a hole, BLACK AS YOUR SOUL! I'D RATHER DIE, THAN GIVE YOU CONTROL!_

Like a cobra, the fingers snapped together into a fist and shot forward, crunching bone and sending blood running. He cried out in pain and tried to lift his good hand to his nose but the fist was already flying forward again. His head snapped back against the brick wall. She hit him again and this time he didn't make a sound. But she didn't stop. The red in front of her eyes had grown so thick she couldn't see past it and an incessant buzz sounded in her ears. Like a jackhammer her arm drew back over her head and then slammed down into his face until it was covered to the elbow in blood and snot. And still she didn't stop. The demon inside of her drove her to stamp out the memory lurking inside of her.

"Cherie? Rogue, Jésus, Rogue! Stop! Vous le tuerez!" (You'll kill him)

Remy caught her fist as she pulled it back and she turned on him. He caught the frenzied look in her eyes and the fist she sent streaming toward him. Trying to keep himself from joining the bloodied mess at her feet, he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and tried to think quickly. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he could overpower her; even when she wasn't enraged she was a one-man army. Nor was he foolish enough to hope that the berserker rage she was in would keep her from being conscious enough to access her arsenal of weapons. But he didn't want to hurt her, not when she was already obviously in pain from something else. There was no way, not with the way she was struggling against him and snarling like a caged wolf, that she was going to settle down on her own. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He took her head in his hands and snapped her neck.

****

_La Complainte De La Butte by Rufus Wainwright_

            _Head Like A Hole_ by Nine Inch Nails


	8. Rage Against Memory

She was falling—no, drifting really. Drifting down through darkness, blackness so thick she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or not. Still she knew she was spiraling downwards. She could feel the air push up against her back and then slither over the folds of her clothes, tickling the tiny bits of bare skin it came in contact with. Where had she fallen from? The memory flickered in the distance, teasingly. She squinted at it, scrunching her eyes tight, but it failed to come into focus. So she let it slip away. She wouldn't need it anyway. Not where she was going. Where was she going?

            _Everyone has gone away_

_            Can you hear me? Can you hear me?_

_            No one cared enough to stay_

_            Can you hear me? Can you hear me?_

_            You must remember me old man_

_            I know that you can if you try_

_            So just open up your eyes old man_

_            Look who's come to say goodbye._

            And then suddenly there was the ground beneath her. She slammed into it violently and waves of pain shot through her entire body. Along her spine, down her arms and legs, into her fingers and toes and even through the roots of her hair. All the air in her lungs exploded out of her mouth and refused to be dragged back in. She tried to gasp for oxygen but her lungs felt as if they were being squeezed and twisted. The darkness she was buried in grew heavier and crushing.

            _The world is a vampire._

_            Sent to drain._

_            Secret destroyers, hold you up to the flames_

_            And what do I get, for my pain?_

_            Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game._

_            Even though I know—I suppose I'll show_

_            All my cool and cold-like old job_

_            Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage._

            Her eyes snapped open and darkness encased her on all sides, filling even the space inside of her head. Numbness ran along the entire length of her body, paralyzing her. She gasped, dragging air into lungs that felt frozen and struggled to move. Only the left side of her body responded and it sent her tumbling off into empty space. A moment later she hit solid ground, her legs tangled in some unseen object. Panic came surging forward, followed by a barrage of questions. Where was she? Why couldn't she move? Was she dreaming? Was she dead?

            _Ah'm dead, aren't Ah? Jesus, jesus – Ah didn't want to die. What the fuck happened?_

_            I hope it was a classy death_, a quiet voice murmured in the back of her mind.

            _Well, I friggin' hope we went out with a bang, declared another voice. _

            _Christ, you people are morbid. Nobody died. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this, said a third voice firmly._

            _Looky here, folks! Mr. Anal Retentive is even anal retentive when he doesn't have an anus! The second voice sneered._

            _You know what? You're a real asshole sometimes._

            _Ooooo, that's gonna leave a mark. Really, hold back. You're gonna hurt my feelings. I feel a tear. _

            Rogue's eyes darted around wildly, trying to find some kind of anchor to hold on to, something that would give her some sort of grip. Fear was washing over her, allowing her to ignore the otherwise annoying fact that there was more than one voice inside her head talking to her.

            And then suddenly, burning brightly in the blackness like two flames, were a pair of crimson orbs. She stared into them and the fear began to slowly drain away.

            Light abruptly shattered the darkness and Rogue snapped her eyes shut.

            "Like, oh my god Rogue! Are you like okay?"

            Kitty's shrieking voice flowed over her with welcome relief. If Kitty was there, then there was no way she was dead. No god was THAT cruel. Rogue opened her mouth to speak but found her throat too dry to do more than cough weakly. She heard the thumping of footsteps, and then the rushing of water. A moment later she heard Kitty's voice again.

            "Here. Drink this."

            Slowly opening her eyes, Rogue found a plastic cup of water floating above her. She struggled to get into a sitting position but her limbs refused to obey her. Kneeling down, Kitty slid an arm around the Southern girl, careful to keep their skin apart, and gently propped her up against her bed. Then she lifted the cup again. Rogue put her lips to the rim of the cup and drank slowly, wrinkling her nose at the toothpaste taste. Why was it that water from a bathroom sink always tasted like peppermint toothpaste? 

            Finally she pushed the cup away with her nose and took a deep breath. Kitty set the cup on the nightstand next to her.

            "Are you okay?" she asked, pushing back her long dark hair.

            Rogue leaned her head back against the bed and shook it. "Ah can't move, Kitty."

            "Hold on. I'm like, gonna go get Mr. McCoy. I'll be right back."

            And with that promise the shadowcat slipped through the floor, leaving Rogue alone. Well. Not completely alone. She was never completely alone anymore.

            _See? I told you we weren't dead._

_            Oh shut the . . .  ._

                                                                                                            #

            Hunched outside, the balls of his feet resting lightly against a tree limb, Remy kept his burning eyes trained on the inside of the room. Part of his brain informed him that there wasn't any reason for him to stay there. It was obvious that the valley girl had gone to get help. Not that Rogue really needed it. Wolverine's healing powers had kicked in almost the moment after he had so easily snapped the cord that connected her mind with the rest of her body. Still, that half a moment when he had waited to feel her pulse kick back to life had scared the living shit out of him. For a second he had thought that maybe he had gambled and the cards had come up short. She was so pale. So. . . fragile.

            But then there hadn't been anything fragile about the beating she had given the four men in the alleyway. He could still see the vacant look in her eyes as she had slammed her fist into the chubby man's face, as if she had shoved her conscience aside while she dispensed justice. Justice for two separate crimes. Though he didn't doubt the depth of Rogue's compassion—how did anyone turn away—the violence in that alleyway hadn't just been against the young woman's attackers. It had been against her own. 

            His fingers curled around a branch above him and clenched until the bark bit through his thin black gloves and dug into the skin of his palm. A slow rage was burning inside of him, building like steam in a pressure cooker. He hadn't been able to release any of it on the thugs; Rogue had too severely taken care of that problem. Anger mixed with disgust; a man who abused a woman was no man at all. He was fodder. Scum. Less. Without. In his mind, Remy shot backwards in time to the image of his Tante holding a towel full of ice against her face, white and red stripped cloth hiding the ugly purple bruise that had been hand delivered by some low-life from a rival guild. Through the eyes of a thirteen year old, Remy saw the rage ripple over Jean Luc's face just before he walked curtly from the room.

            Tante was never touched again.

            Remy relaxed slightly when he saw Kitty return to the room with the Professor and the Beast in tow. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay there. Except to get caught.

            He felt something grab hold of his coat and before he could react, he was dragged down from his perch. His coat twisted around him awkwardly and as a result, he landed less nimbly then he had wanted and hard on his leg. Remy winced at the pain that whipped through his ankle and automatically reached into his coat for a card. There was the sound of metal scraping against metal and the young thief found himself with three claw-like blades inches from his face.

            "Merci, but Remy already shave today, mon ami," he quipped, leaning back. A second hand reached out and grabbed hold of his coat lapels. Wolverine frowned and leaned forward, one bushy eyebrow raised.

            "Ya missed a spot. What are ya doin' here gumbo?"

            Somehow Remy got the feeling that the truth, as usual, would not set him free, so he smiled charmingly and wrenched himself free of the shorter man's grasp. 

            "It's a nice night. Felt like a walk in de park. De trees, de moon." He reached around to the back of his waist and took hold of his bo. With a flourish he spun it through his fingers and snapped it out to its full length. "De animals."

            Narrowing his eyes, Wolverine growled lightly and three other claws extended from his second hand. "Careful bub. Or I might have to shred that pretty face of yours."

            Comfortable in his insolence, Remy blew him a kiss. "En garde, mon ami."

            Drawing his arm back, Wolverine launched himself forward and Remy braced himself for the onslaught. But it didn't come. Wolverine's arm froze in mid-air.

            "Logan," came the Professor calm, stern voice. 

            Remy didn't hesitate. He bolted towards the mansion's gates, tossing a fare-thee-well card behind him.

_______

_Old Man _by Randy Newman

_Bullet With Butterfly Wings_ by Smashing Pumpkins


	9. The Morning After

Author's Note 

How to explain the extreme stretch of time between updates? Well several things happened actually. 1) My computer gained supreme artificial intelligence and almost took over the world. Luckily I was able to stop it with a robot sent back from the future and a glass of apple juice. 2) I was abducted by aliens and traversed the universe searching for that perfectly brewed bottle of ice tea. 3)…..so I had writer's block. Plus they canceled the show. Which sucks. But anyhoo, I'm back and am planning on finishing the story before moving on to something new I have brewing in my evil creative mind.

* * *

The sun was just starting to break over the horizon when Rogue finally stumbled back into her room. Kitty's retrieval of Dr. McCoy had led to a series of long, intensive tests; some to discover what was wrong with her and others to discover what had happened to her. The answer to those two questions seemed to be exactly the same: nothing. Nothing was wrong with her. By the time Dr. McCoy had reached the room the paralysis had already faded away. All the tests he had run had come back negative. No foreign parasites, no bacteria, no viruses, no broken bones, nothing. Rogue was perfectly and completely healthy. He had let her go back to her room because there didn't seem any reason to keep her in the Med lab. Not when there was nothing wrong with her. At least, Rogue assumed he had given her permission to leave. He hadn't actually said she could go. When she had asked, he had just sort of waved his hand absently while he muttered to himself about "compound phorno ephemerals" (or something) and paced back and forth. She had taken that for a yes and had escaped as quickly as she could in order to preserve the little blood she had remaining in her body.

As she flopped face down onto her body, she rubbed at the inside of her elbow where the needle had gone in. God she hated having blood taken. The slow, painful feeling of having a part of you drained from your insides. She could only imagine that that's how it felt when she absorbed someone.

_Here I go. Trapped in the confusion of my mind. Here I go. So slowly running out of time._

Rogue flipped over so that she was on her back and rubbed a hand over her forehead. The questions that Dr. McCoy had bombarded her with were still floating around in her mind, unanswered. _What happened? What do you remember from before you woke up? How did you get back to the institute?_

_Here I go. Searching for what I cannot find. Lost within the world of the blind. Here where seagulls go to die._

She couldn't remember. Try as she might to recall the events of the evening, there was only a solid blank wall. Logan had given her the keys and she had left. Gone . . . . somewhere. Done . . . something. Involuntarily she flexed her fingers then curled them into fists. A thin veil of red flittered through her mind, a hazy, half-remembered feeling of . . . anger? Had she been angry with someone?

Frustrated she fisted her hands into her hair and sat up. Her gaze fell on the small table near her bed, home to the few pictures she considered important enough to keep. One of her and Irene. One of the slow moving Mississippi. One of Logan holding up Kitty's broken N'Sync cd. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she reached forward, sliding the thin plastic card off the table. On the back was a plain blue pattern. She flipped it over. On the other side was the Queen of Hearts. She didn't remember it being there before.

Red mist. Red . . . anger. Red . . . eyes. Her hand closed over the card; the plastic dug painfully into her skin but she failed to notice.

Gambit.

* * *

Dr. Hank McCoy stared at the medical charts in front of him with a very unfamiliar feeling settling into him; bafflement.

"I have absolutely no idea what could be wrong with her. It doesn't make any sense! There's no sign of injury, bacteria. No build up of any kind of fluids in her spinal column, no traces of any foreign objects. There's no _physical_ evidence that would suggest paralysis. It doesn't make any sense," he repeated, scratching the back of his head with one hand.

Professor Charles Xavier folded his hands and rested his chin on top of them. He felt a similar feeling of bafflement as he looked over the charts neatly displayed on the monitor before him. But then, Rogue had always been something of a bafflement to even him, the world's most gifted telepath. The way her mind could contain so many different memories, so many different personalities, and still function within of the realm of normalcy. The way her thoughts were constantly shielded, guarded by two piercing green eyes. Her past, her future, even her name was shrouded in mystery. To him, to the others, and to some degree, to herself.

"There are psychosomatic disorders that could be capable of bringing about paralysis. However, generally they do not occur nor disappear so quickly," he said.

Leaning against the wall in the corner of the Med-Lab, Logan chewed on a toothpick, his sharp teeth digging into the thin wood. His annoyance for the smooth-talking Cajun had yet to fade and the fact that he hadn't been allowed to vent that annoyance left him feeling itchy for a fight.

"Why don't you just go pickin' through her brain?" he drawled sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling slightly. Professor Xavier raised a single eyebrow as he glanced in Logan's direction, noting the sour look on the man's face.

"I do not 'pick' through the brains of others. I will tolerate a great deal from you Logan, but continue to sulk over my decision to not allow you to shred Mr. Gambit's face and you'll spend the rest of your days believing you're a ballerina who enjoys bright pink dresses and curly yellow ribbons."

Logan reached up and pulled the toothpick from his mouth. "I don't trust him."

The Professor nodded. "You think he may have tried to harm Rogue." A nod. "Well I don't."

McCoy shifted his gaze between the two and felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle upwards. He was one hundred percent sure that the Professor would never harm another human, mutant or non-mutant, but the fact that the peace loving man could conceivably crush the mind of anyone into paste made confrontations with him slightly unnerving. He cleared his throat lightly.

"Might I say that while Logan's suggestion was lacking somewhat in tact, he may indeed have a point." Xavier turned his head. "Perhaps a foray into Rogue's mind could unearth a few answers to the questions we have? With her permission, of course," McCoy added hastily, not wanting to offend.

Xavier stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I am hesitant to enter into Rogue's mind. I do not understand the workings of it and do not want to jeopardize its stability. Rogue values her privacy and I respect that. From the conclusion you have drawn her Doctor, I see that you have noted that she is healthy and in no danger of further injury?"

Dr. McCoy nodded. "Yes, that is correct. Whatever caused her paralysis seems to have been temporary and is gone now."

"Then we shall leave it at that."

* * *

A thin tendril of smoke wove its way upwards and drifted out the open window into the cool night air. The stars were bright in the clear sky and the moon cast its light into the room, splashing over the dark stained wood, soft brown leather, and reflected in crimson colored eyes. Music, muffled slightly by the walls, still managed to stream its way into his ears.

_As he came into the window it was the sound of a crescendo. He came into her apartment, he left bloodstains on the carpet._

He absently tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray; he hadn't taken a drag from it since he had first lit it. His mind was on other things and the sour taste of tobacco did not have the same draw it once did. Plus, it was murder on the lungs.

_Annie_ a_re you OK? So, Annie are you OK? Are you OK, Annie? Annie are you OK? So, Annie are you Ok, are you Ok, Annie?_

The music cut out abruptly and the silence came rushing back in. It was shattered again by the sound of breaking glass. Remy leaned forward over the balcony and watched the radio as it plummeted to the ground, shattering into two dozen jagged, shiny pieces. They caught the moonlight and sparkled in the sand like diamonds waiting to be plucked from the earth. Glancing to the right, Remy was just in time to see St. John's head stick out the window. The Aussie's mouth dropped open for a second, and then he abruptly turned back into the room.

"Holy BLEEDIN' Jesus, mate! What the hell didja do that for? I just got that bloody thing! I swear, ya throw one more of me things out the window and I'll torch the fur right offya bloody body!"

There was a low, snarl followed by a string of curses from St. John.

"Hey! Keep ya claws offa me ya big dumb—AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Remy tapped his cigarette again as he watched St. John, clad only in a pair of flame colored boxers, flew out of the window to join the shattered remains of the stereo Remy had "purchased" in the city for him. The Aussie landed with a loud "thump" and a "flying chicken fuck!" Chuckling, Remy turned his eyes back to the moon.

And thought of her.

He was worried that he had miscalculated. And he never worried. What if her powers weren't as strong as he had thought? What if she couldn't heal from the blow he had delivered? What if he had left her paralysised, unable to move, because he hadn't been able to subdue her? Wincing, he rolled his shoulder. He could still feel the strength of her punches. It had been like being hit with a sledgehammer. He wished he had more information; which he would have, if the overgrown guard dog hadn't sniffed him out. Ruefully he rubbed at his throat where Wolverine's claws had nicked his skin. _Chien muet_, Remy thought to himself darkly, crushing the cigarette out on the ledge of his window. (Dumb dog.) He flicked it into the darkness and turned back into his room.

_You've been hit by, you've been struck by, a smooth criminal._

* * *

_Where Seagulls Go To Die_ by Me

_Smooth Criminal_ by Michael Jackson


	10. Where Is What?

Author's Note

Originally this was going to be one really long chapter but I decided it would probably be better if I split it up into two. Gives me a nice little cliffhanger to play with. Those are always fun.

000000000

It was a beautiful day. The sky was clear blue with no pesky clouds to block the sun as it poured down on the crowds of people walking the streets of New York. Music mixed with conversation to fill ears with unintelligible chatter while the smoky scent of hotdogs and roasted peanuts drifted through the air. Everywhere people hustled and bustled, usually into each other. Curses were made, threats implied, fists shaken. And then it was over. Too nice a day to be spoiled with physical alterations (or a trip to jail). It was warm, sunny, and—

_Boring_, Rogue thought as she stood atop a small newspaper stand, her gaze drifting lightly over the lurching numbers. She felt a little bit like she was caught in a zombie movie, surrounded by thousands of shambling, brain dead zombies and every freakin' one of them was a vegetarian. That's not to say she was hoping for some kind of incident—she knew better than that. When you wish for trouble you usually get more than you bargained for. Often in the shape of an enormous mutant hating monster or an ancient mutant with god-like abilities and serious world domination issues. She really didn't need any more of that particular brand of trouble. But what was the point of going on patrol if nothing was going to happen? It was like cruising Mr. Rogers' neighborhood for a cocaine fix.

She sighed and blinked a few times in an attempt to make herself more alert. She was lucky she had managed to get out of the mansion at all. Ever since the incident a few days ago Mr. McCoy had practically been following her around, alternating between poking her with needles and checking her blood pressure. Each time he seemed almost angry that he couldn't find anything wrong with her. And while she appreciated his concern for her welfare, he really needed to start thinking about his own. Because if he wrapped that stupid ass contraption around her arm one more time, she was going to rip his brain out through his nose and devour it in front of him.

_Gross,_ she thought, shaking her head slightly. Never should have agreed to the zombie film festival the night before. But seriously, the added attention was starting to make her blood boil and she was almost certain that if it went on much longer, a blood vessel in her brain was going to explode. Rogue blew out another deep breath, shooting a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She should be happy nothing was going on. It would give her time to think back and try and figure out just what had happened that night. Days later it was just as foggy and unclear as it had been. Of course, she was starting to think she didn't want to remember what had happened. It was as if something was whispering into her ear that she didn't want to know. That whatever the darkness in her memory was hiding would be ugly and terrifying. Unconsciously she flexed her fingers. What she should do is go find that slick-talking, chain-smoking, swamp rat Gambit and beat the truth out of him. It would be both enlightening and satisfying. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was almost positive he had something to do with the missing moments of memory. A scowl twisted her lips at the thought.

Most of the people passing by the newsstand gave little thought to the sight of a tall, lanky girl standing on the roof. In fact, between the grasping hands of the homeless, the jerky movements of the hopelessly addicted, and the constant offerings of colorful, distracting fliers, only a handful of people actually even noticed her. Out of that small group, two teenager boys stood nearby, gazing up in hopeful adoration.

"Ask her something."

"What? No—no way. You ask her something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Ask for…..directions or something."

"Directions to where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere!"

Rogue's head turned slightly so that they could clearly see the annoyed expression on her face. Their hopes died down a bit.

"Uh . . . . maybe we shouldn't bother her."

"Yeah . . . .maybe."

0000000

Back at the mansion Scott sat in a chair down in the basement, his eyes trained on several television screens and his ears turned to the voices of his teammates as they came in over the radio.

"Like, it looks like everything's totally fine here."

Scott squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Where is 'here' Kitty?"

Her fresh face popped up onto one of the television and she gave him a strange look as she peered down into her communicator. "Uh, like aren't you at the mansion Scott?"

He gritted his teeth lightly. "Yes. I meant, where are YOU, Kitty."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm right here."

"Where . . . IS . . . . THAT?"

"Where's what?"

Scott stared at the screen for ten full seconds, and then blinked slowly. "That's terrific Kitty. Come on back to the mansion. Before you hurt yourself," he muttered under his breath.

"I totally heard that."

Instead of answering, Scott cut communications with her and then rammed the palm of his hand against his skull, wishing he could ram it against HER skull.

"Vas dat Kitty?"

Turning his head, Scott saw Kurt as he stepped through the doorway into the room, a mug of something in one blue, furry hand. Scott dragged his hands through his thick brown hair and tried to resist pulling it all out and throwing it onto the floor.

"Unfortunately yes."

"Is she still having trouble vith location?"

Scott pointed at the blank screen with one finger, imaging her face was still displayed there. "People have to WORK to be that stupid. It's unnatural."

Kurt nodded and took a sip of tea. "Vell, ve all have our talents. De professor vanted to know if Rogue has checked in yet?"

Frowning, Scott shifted his attention to the keyboard on the desk in front of him. "Actually, she hasn't." He punched a few of the keys and waited. A moment later, Rogue's face came onto the screen. She squinted slightly and brushed her hair back from her face.

"What?" she asked, sounding bored.

Scott's frown deepened. "What do you mean what? You're supposed to check in."

"Why? Nothin's going on down here."

"Well, I want to know that."

"Did Ah call and say something was going on?" she asked.

"No."

"Well then, you should just assume everything's fine."

Scott rubbed his forehead. "I can't do that Rogue. What if you were attacked and you couldn't call for help? What if something happened and your communicator was broken?"

On screen Rogue tapped a finger against her chin and appeared thoughtful. "You're right, Scott. Sorry." She looked straight into the communicator, her green eyes sharp and serious. "Scott. The city's been overrun with zombie hordes. They're eating brains left and right. Gonna need some backup."

Pushing up out of his chair, Scott slammed his hands down on the desk in surprise. "What? Say again?"

Rogue chuckled. "Ah'm just kiddin'. Nothing's—hold on a sec." She disappeared from view and all they could see was a backdrop of the city. But her voice still came in clear over the line. "You boys lost or something? . . . . The Eiffel Tower? . . . Sugah, you in the wrong country . . . . You feelin' alright? You look a little flushed . . . right . . . . y'all have a good day." There was a bit of shuffling and the sound of two bodies smacking into each other, followed by another of Rogue's chuckles. She came back onto the screen. "Sorry 'bout that. What was Ah saying?"

Fire very nearly shot out of Scott's nose. "Just give me an update."

"Right. Like Ah said, everything's—" she stopped in mid-sentence and her eyes shifted on screen, narrowing as she focused in on something in the distance. "Wait a minute. Ah see somethin'. Ah'll have to call you back." Abruptly her face disappeared from the screen.

"No!" Scott slammed his hands down on the desk again. "Dammit!" He turned to Kurt. "You. Teleport to her coordinates and find out what's going on."

Kurt's only movement was to cock an eyebrow. "You vant me to teleport into a crowd of people? Are you crazy? I could end up vith an arm in my head or something. Not to mention the screaming and trampling that vill go on at de sight of a 'demon'. Forget it."

Scott tapped a finger against the desk. "Fine. We'll take my car."


	11. Something About Hotel Closets

Author's Note

I'm totally dedicating this chapter to ishandahalf who, despite my intense lack of updating, came back to review my story and whose insistent use of the line "quick like a bunny on crack" never fails to amuse me. Here's to you ishandahalf. :hands over a stuffed kola bear: BTW, I stocked it full of ROMYness for you. Thanks for the reviews. You're awesome.

0000000

As soon as she broke transmission with Scott, Rogue leapt forward, vaulting over the heads of her admirers with a sleek grace that only served to heighten their admiration. She hit the street without so much as a grunt and was up and running, twisting her way through the crowd of people. They stared after her, mouths open wide with astonishment. When their eyes finally lost sight of her in the sea of people, they turned to each other, identical thoughts running through their heads.

"That was the coolest thing I have ever seen in my life."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He sighed. "I think I'm in love."

"No way. I totally saw her first."

"So what? I'm the one who talked to her."

"Yeah, some great conversationalist you are. The Eiffel Tower? That's in Germany you idiot."

"At least I talked to her. You just stood there like some weird stalker freak all googly eyed."

The two boys glared at each other for a long moment, fists clenched at their sides. And then, the moment passed.

"So….you want to go to the comic book store?"

"Yeah, sure."

Rogue pushed her way through, around, and over slow moving people, doing her best not to send anyone flying. What she wouldn't give for an earthquake at that moment. That would really clear the streets. But she pushed the thought out of her head as she struggled on, her eyes forward. Up ahead of her was a hotel, a shiny tower of metal and glass that rose high into the air. And climbing up the shadowed side of it, she could just make out a figure carrying something on its back that looked suspiciously like a bazooka. With all the people that were lining the streets, taking in the warm weather and the putrid New York air, she didn't want to even think about how much damage that thing could do if it were fired off. That meant there was only one thing to do. She had to get up there so she could add that baby to her ever growing collection of illegal firearms.

She skidded to a halt in front of the hotel's entrance and decided that it wouldn't be practical to go barging in the front door. They'd just think she was crazy and any warning she gave could start a panic. Crowded streets did not make a good backdrop for panicked people. So instead she ducked down the hotel's side alley, her eyes searching for a way up. Her vision swam for a moment as she looked around, taking in the clunky metal bins shadowed and rusty. Broken glass littered the ground along with scraps of cardboard and strips of dirty cloth. Her head began to pound and she pressed a hand to her forehead at the sudden pain.

_"Help me! Please, somebody help me!"_

_ "Scream for me. Nobody'll come."_

_ "I jus—just wanted to ha—have some fun."_

_ "Remy. Remy LeBeau. Gambit is for business hours only, cherie."_

Rogue slowly opened her eyes and let her hands fall away from her face. At some point she had sunk down to her knees and she could feel the gravel from the street bite into her skin. Her head was still pounding and her stomach rolled greasily. Sweat gathered on her brow. She blew out a long breath and slowly got to her feet, running a hand through hair. Looking down, she saw that her hand was shaking and she grabbed it with her other. Rubbing them together she shook her head as if she could shake the feeling away as well. _What's wrong with me?_ she thought. She tilted her head back and saw the figure slip over the edge of the roof and disappear. _No time to think about it now._ Her eyes drifted back down and caught on a fire escape some four feet above her head. She looked around for something to stand on but both metal containers were too far away. She turned to the side of the building the fire escape was bolted to and bit her lip. _Ah, what the hell. It works in the movies._

Shifting her head from side to side, Rogue blew out another breath, flexed her fingers, and ran forward. When she reached the wall she jumped, stepping up with her left leg. Then she shifted her body sideways, planted her right foot, and shoved off the brick. With her hands outstretched she flew towards the fire escape ladder. Her hands closed over the rough metal and the entire frame gave a protesting groan at the addition of her weight. Gritting her teeth, Rogue slowly pulled herself up, one hand at a time. _If this piece of crap falls apart on me Ah swear to God Ah'll get Scott to melt every inch of it into dust and Ah'll dance on the ashes._ Luckily for her, and the fire escape, the metal held together and she managed to drag herself up onto the first platform. Wheezing slightly, she brushed herself off and glanced over the railing at the ground. And grinned.

"Well. That was easy."

Lifting her eyes back towards the roof, Rogue started up the fire escape, trying to move as fast as possible without letting the figure know she was coming. Which was practically impossible since even the smallest movement had the metal screeching like a dying alley cat. But she wasn't too worried about her slow pace. The nearest building to the hotel was still too far to jump and whoever he was, he could hardly go down through the hotel with that giant thing strapped to his back. And if he was going to fire it off, he probably would have done so already. So she continued to slowly make her way up.

She had nearly reached the roof when her eyes caught sight of another figure, this one familiar, as it slipped inside a hotel window. Her eyes narrowed at the edge of a brown trench coat as it disappeared into the room.

0000000

Gambit whistled quietly to himself as he slid inside the room. He tucked his lock picks into one of many pockets sewn into the inside of his long coat and took a precursory glance around. It was nice. Beyond nice. A luscious suite for lovers on vacation or looking to escape the noise, crowds, and grime of the city outside. Rich lovers, he thought as he spied the sparkling diamond necklace and matching bracelet lying out on the counter. He walked over to it noiselessly and ran a gloved finger over the precious stones. Really. People were so careless with their fine things. Shouldn't just leave them around like that. Somebody might take them. He'd be a good friend and put them somewhere safe. Grinning to himself, he picked up the necklace and dropped it into his pocket. He held the bracelet up so that it could catch the sun shinning in from the window. The diamonds lit up like fire. His grin widened. No matter how many times he did it, it never failed to amuse him.

"Looks a little girly for you. But then again, you look like the feminine type."

At the sound of her voice, Gambit turned his head. She stood in the window, one hand fisted on her hip, white bangs framing her face, and something that looked suspiciously like murder in her bright green eyes. The sun streamed in behind her, giving her a glowing shimmer that did nothing to dispel the fact that she was quite obviously pissed about something. Gambit glanced back at the diamonds.

They paled in comparison.

He opened his mouth to respond when his sharp ears caught the heavy fall of footsteps and the jiggling of keys being slid into a lock. Tossing the bracelet back onto the dresser, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of her, dragging her into the closet and snapping the door shut behind him. He pressed her back against the wall and clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled and he could feel her lips moving underneath his gloved palm.

"Shhhhhh. Don't t'ink you want to be caught aidin' and abettin'."

Her eyes narrowed to thin slits but she fell silent. He cocked his head and heard the sound of the door opening and closing. Voices filled the room.

"Honestly Harry, it's like every freak in the city is out there. It's ridiculous."

"I know darling. Try not to think about it. I'll make our reservations."

There was a bit of shuffling. "Honey? Have you seen my diamond necklace?"

"What's that dear?"

"My diamond necklace."

"Not since this morning. You had it on in the bedroom."

"Right. I thought I took it off and put on the counter here, next to my bracelet."

"Well I'm sure it must be somewhere."

"Help me look for it."

There was the sound of more shuffling and then fading footsteps as the couple moved into another room. But Gambit found it hard to pay attention to the couple's movements. Instead all his attention seemed to be focused on the young woman he couldn't see but knew was in front of him. He could feel her body beneath his, with all its soft curves and strong lines. And his hand was still over her mouth; he could feel the warmth of her breath through the thin fabric of his glove. Experimentally he shifted slightly, leaning forward so that his chin brushed the side of her hair. He breathed in quietly and took in the subtle scent of jasmine. Without thinking he turned his head so that his lips brushed her hair. He felt her stiffen and had a moment to consider it before he felt her fist ram into his stomach.

"Ooof," he wheezed quietly, resting his head on her shoulder. He felt her mouth move under his palm and shifted his hand from her face to the wall behind her head.

"What the hell do you think your doing?" Rogue hissed. Gambit rubbed his stomach with his other hand.

"Movin'. Dis a small space, cherie." He could almost feel her eyes drilling holes into him.

"This is all your fault. What were you doing with that necklace?"

"_Stealin'_ it."

"What for?"

"'Cause dat's what I do, cherie. And I was doin' it jus' fine 'fore you decided to jump in."

Rogue gritted her teeth in the darkness. She couldn't decide if she wanted to scream in frustration at him or beat the living tar out of him. Not that it matter since she couldn't do either at the moment, not unless she wanted to spend ten to fifteen years of her life in prison for being an accessory to what was probably grand larceny. Plus, she was finding it difficult to think at all in there, in the darkness, with him just a few inches away. She could smell the mixture of tobacco and spice that always seemed to cling to him. And she didn't know if it was just him or the fact that he was wearing a trench coat on a day when it was eighty degrees out, but warmth was pouring off of him. It slid over her, just as solid as his fingers, and made her throat dry.

"You're awfully tense, cherie," she heard his voice whisper somewhere near her ear. Frustration boiled up inside of her. She reached up over his shoulder and stuck her hand underneath his chin, hooked one of her legs with his, and wrenched, flipping their positions so that now his back was to the wall. He gave another little "ooof" of surprise. Then he chuckled lightly.

"You want to play? Let's play." She felt his hand on the small of her back and before she could stop him, he jerked her forward so that their lips were only centimeters away. She could feel them across the darkness. Involuntarily her eyes flickered up and she could see his eyes glowing red. His breath feathered over her lips, sending tiny little shivers up and down her spine. Her thoughts buzzed around furiously in her head. _Don't touch him. Don't touch him. Maybe I should. I could find out what it feels like, find out what happened that night, and knock him unconscious. Seems like a win-win situation._ The voices in her head chimed in their own opinions.

_GO FOR IT! _

_ Don't do it. You really want his slimy thoughts in your head?_

_ Oh shut up. When is she gonna get another chance at this?_

_ Can't you think about anything other than sex?_

_ I could if I was GETTING SOME!_

_ You're impossible. Don't do it. You'll regret it._

_ Don't you have a pole to shove up your ass or something?_

_ You are impossible._

Despite the rowdy clamor in her head, Rogue felt herself leaning forward, her eyes closing. . .

"It's not here! Oh my god it's been stolen!"

At the sudden exclamation, Rogue jerked back and would have stumbled loudly if Gambit's arms hadn't tightened around her, keeping her steady.

"Now, now, honey, let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe you were wearing it and it fell off."

"And how is THAT ANY BETTER?"

"Calm down. Let's just go retrace your steps and see if we can find it, okay?"

From the other side of the door there was some rattling and swishing, followed by footsteps again and the slamming of a door. A minute later there was the sound of a key jiggling in a lock.


	12. Makes Me Want To Throw Myself Off A Buil...

As soon as she heard the lock clink into place, Rogue shoved away from Gambit and all but broke the closet door down in her haste to get out. In the span of perhaps two minutes, she had learned several very valuable lessons. One: never detour from your original bad guy, especially not to go after some card carrying member of some mutant mafia. Two: never end up stuck in a closet with an annoying, infuriating, extremely hot and tempting Cajun. And three: never, EVER end up stuck in a closet with an annoying, infuriating, extremely hot and tempting Cajun. Dragging her gloved fingers through her hair, Rogue stalked towards the window, fully intent on continuing her pursuit of bazooka boy (though he was probably long gone by now). She didn't really want to know what happened that night. So what if she had a hole in her memory? She had lots of holes in her memory. So what if she'd been paralysised and no one could figure out why? What ever had happened that night, her brain probably had a damn good reason for blocking it out and that was perfectly fine by her. She didn't need some sex starved swamp rat hounding her, stirring up emotions and pissing the living hell out of her.

_Of course, you were the one who went after him._

_ DID AH FREAKIN' ASK YOU?_

_ . . . . uh, no. No you didn't._

Rogue got to the window and slipped one leg out onto the balcony. She hadn't really wasted that much time. Two, three minutes at the most. How far could bazooka boy have gotten? There hadn't been any sounds of explosion of people crying out in fear and panic, so nothing had been launched. At least, not yet. She was just starting to feel under control again when she made the mistake of glancing back over her shoulder. She was just in time to see Gambit emerge from the closet, his grin wide and easy, much like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

Goddammit, did she hate that movie.

She felt frustration boil up inside of her again and she pointed her index finger at him, imagining it was a sword sinking slowly into his chest. "You—." She stopped, tried again. "This is—."

Gambit stood still, his head cocked to one side, his grin slowly widening even further.

Rogue began to see red. "You are a—."

Chuckling, Gambit cupped a hand around his ear and leaned forward a bit. "What's dat cherie?"

Her teeth clenched together so hard he thought they might break, like in the old cartoons he used to watch.

"Put. The. Necklace. Back," she seethed.

He leaned his back against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and considered her. In his short life, he had managed to see quite a number of femmes caught of in the throes of anger. Anger that was generally directed at him, occasionally in the form of a heavy, blunt object. Absently he rubbed the back of his head as he recalled the feeling of having a cast iron lamp connect with his skull. Dieu, his Tante had a fierce temper. But he had never seen someone with the kind of temper Rogue had. That girl seemed to spend almost every minute caught up in some kind of maddened frenzy. He wondered if she was always like that or if he just seemed to bring out the best in her. The thought tickled him.

"Exactly what necklace you talkin' 'bout, cherie?" he asked, innocently. He could see her fingers dig into the wooden frame of the window and figured she was imagining it was his head.

"The one you told me you were stealin'. Remember? It was two minutes ago?"

Gambit scratched his chin and frowned mockingly. "Gambit don't remember saying nothin' like dat."

"I saw you put it in your pocket."

He held his arms out invitingly. "Go ahead and search me, cherie, if you want." He winked slyly. "But be gentle, oui."

Her eyes flashed and the message in them was crystal clear. It read: I want to murder you and drop your cold, lifeless corpse off some pier with your feet encased in cement blocks so that all the fish in the sea can enact revenge for the slaughter of millions.

Rogue threw her hands up in the air and climbed out onto the balcony. "You know what? Forget it. Ah don't care. Steal whateva' you want. It's a free country. Go ta jail, be molested by prison guards. Whateva."

Eyebrows raised, Gambit climbed out behind her, amused by the way she continued to mutter darkly underneath her breath as she jumped from the balcony to the fire escape that hung to the left of it. He perched on the balcony's railing for a moment, curious as to where she was headed with such purpose. Away from him was an obvious answer. His lips twitched again. The urge to follow her rose up in him, and since his planned afternoon activity had been abruptly canceled, he was free to do so. With ease he closed the distance between them, landing quietly on the metal grating, as if he weighed no more than a feather.

"Gambit touched dat you so concerned for his sexual well being, cherie," he quipped. Rogue pulled up so suddenly that his face nearly smashed into her shoulder. To avoid crunching his nose he threw his weight back, overbalancing himself so that he felt back against the railing. The fire escape shook noisily and Rogue turned to glare at him.

"Shhhhhhh. There's a guy with a bazooka atop this buildin'."

Gambit rubbed the back of his neck and stared at her. "And you jus' bringin' dis up now?"

"Ah was distracted."

"By littl' 'ol Gambit? Dat's flattering."

"Hardly. Ah was distracted by your criminal impulses."

"Is dat another way of saying Gambit's—"

Rogue lunged forward and slapped a hand over his mouth before whatever vulgar innuendo he had been about to say could come forth.

"Look. There is some wack job up there who jus' might be capable of takin' out half a city block. Now Ah know you're all gun-ho for the bad guys and probably don't give a damn if innocent people are hurt but Ah do care and if you don't keep quiet Ah'll break you in half and barbeque your corpse." When she had finished raving, she dropped both hands to her hips and stared down at him. Gambit could almost swear he saw little flickers of flame shooting out from her nostrils. When he failed to respond right away, she gave a little huff, turned on her heel, and continued up the fire escape toward the roof. He frowned at her back. "Gambit cares about the innocent," he muttered to himself.

Shaking her head, Rogue did the best she could to push the troublesome Cajun out of her mind as she neared the roof's edge. She knew how important it was to approach a situation with a clear head. At least, Scott was always mumbling on about something like that. And she wanted to focus on the person with the possible bazooka that could be lying in wait for her, waiting for her to pop her little head up so he could blast it off. But her brain stubbornly refused to untangle Gambit from her thoughts. He was just so irritating . . . . and frustrating . . . . and blue. Wait, blue?

Rogue pulled herself up onto the roof and blinked at the very familiar and very unwelcome figure that stood ten feet or so from her, with something that now looked more like a cannon than a bazooka perched on her slender shoulder.

"Mystique," she snarled, clenching her hands into fists. The blue skinned shape-shifter smiled at the recognition. "How many cliffs do Ah have to throw you offa before Ah never have to see you again?"

Mystique brushed a stray strand of hair back from her face and sighed. "Oh Rogue. I did so hope that you would have grown out of your little temper tantrums by now."

The snide reminder that it had been Mystique who had adopted and raised her had Rogue's eyes narrowing. Without hesitation she lunged forward, pulling her arm back and wanting nothing more than to plow it through the cunning woman's head. In response, Mystique's index finger clicked down on a bright blue button that had a dull yellow ray firing out from the barrel of her weapon. It hit Rogue dead center in the chest and held her suspended in mid-air. Rogue had always imagined what it felt like for her victims when she pulled the life-energy from them, reaching into their minds to steal their memories and into their bodies to steal their abilities. Later, when she could think clearly again, she would think it probably felt like this. Tiny rivers of pain coursed through her body, as if millions on microscopic blades were streaming through her veins. Then the pain shifted and it felt like those blades were being forced up through her skin. She wanted to scream but couldn't squeeze enough air into her lungs to manage.

Finally the light died away and she fell to her hands and knees, her body shaking and weak. Her vision swam but she could just make out the shape of Mystique as she drew closer. Rogue reached out to swipe at her and almost pitched forward onto her face. Mystique knelt down in front of her and lifted her chin with one finger so that she could look into her eyes.

"I've gotten all I need from you, sweetheart." Shifting slightly, Mystique slammed her fist up into the underside of Rogue's jaw, sending the young woman up into the air. She slammed back down onto the roof's edge and rolled off into empty space.

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"Cherie? Come on now, where ya at?"

Gambit set Rogue's limp form down on the roof carefully and tried to ignore the blood oozing down the side of her face. After all, he'd broken her neck only a few days ago. The gash on the side of her head was a scratch compared to that. Only it didn't look like it was healing. Frowning, he reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a faded blue bandana. Gently he pressed it against the wound. As almost an afterthought, he brushed her hair back away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her skin was nearly white against the darker tan of the back of his hand. Unable to help himself, he stoked one finger down her cheek and along her jaw where a nasty bruise was beginning to form. He expected to feel the insistent tug of her powers but there was only the soft, smoothness of her skin. Maybe her powers only kicked in when she was awake.

"Rogue?" he said softly, leaning down. "Can you hear me? Time to wake up, cherie."

She remained motionless.

His eyes slid down to her lips and one of his eyebrows quirked up. Chances like that just didn't come every day. He leaned down further, his mouth hovering over hers so that he could just barely feel her breath as it stream out.

And then his vision abruptly exploded into stars when she shot up suddenly, smashing his nose with her forehead. Swearing, he toppled over backwards, his hands flying to his face to press against the injured area. Rogue sat up and cradled her head in her hands. It felt a little like a bomb had gone off in there.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?"

Gambit mumbled something that was muffled by his hands.

"What did you say?"

He lifted his hands to see if his nose was bleeding and when he saw that it wasn't, he gingerly pressed his fingers against it to see if it was broken.

"Checkin' to see if you were breathin'."

"With your lips?"

Gambit glanced over and scowled at the disbelieving look she gave him. "Gambit was distracted, ok?"

"Whateva." She rubbed gently at her temples, thinking if she pressed too hard her head might just fall off her shoulders. "What happened? Where's Mystique?"

He shrugged and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "She got away."

"What? And you didn't try and stop her?" she asked incredulously, struggling up onto her feet.

Throwing his hands up in disgust, Gambit got to his feet as well. "Sorry, Gambit's mistake. Guess he should have jus' let you fall to your death and used his magical voodoo powers to fly afta Madam Blue Skin and de helicopta she went flyin' out in." He turned his back to her and stepped up onto the roof's edge, intending to make his way back down.

"Wait."

Pausing, he looked over his shoulder to see her staring down at the ground, hands clenched. After a moment, she sighed and her hands relaxed.

"Ah'm sorry. Visits with Mystique neva leave me in a good mood." Her eyes lifted. "She did somethin' to me and it's not goin' to be good, because nothing Mystique eva does that involves me is good. But thank you, for savin' my life."

He smiled and reached a hand up towards her face. Instinctively she jerked her head back but he caught her jaw in his grip. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt his bare thumb brush over her skin.

"Gonna wanna put ice on dat, cherie," he said, lightly.

"What happened that night?" she heard herself ask and saw a wariness slip into his eyes.

"Rogue!"

She turned her head to see Cyclops and Nightcrawler burst through the roof's door, all but tripping over each other in their haste. And when she turned back around, Gambit was gone. Rogue looked over the edge and thought she saw the edge of his coat disappear into a window. There was a weight on her palm and she noticed that her fingers were loosely curled around something. She opened them.

Diamonds glittered in the sunlight.


	13. Confessions of a Mad Doctor

Author's Note

Well, I should be finishing up some corrections for my publisher but, what the hell. Fan fiction is soooooo much more fun. Less money, but more fun. But, A.M.bookworm247, wow, thanks for the heartfelt review. I am ALL about them; feel free to leave more at your convenience. And money. I want all my loyal supporters to know that I never refuse monetary rewards and should you continue to read my stories, I promise to continue to never refuse them . . . . . right. So . . . . uh . . . enjoy the new chapter.

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For the millionth time in only a few days, Rogue found herself in the Med-Lab again, with an odd assortment of wires and tubes hanging off of her. She gave a long sigh and tried to shift to a more comfortable position. The wires made movement difficult. In the end, she just dropped her arms and slouched forward, sighing at Dr. McCoy's large, blue, hairy back. And sighed again. Did he really have to walk around in his underwear like that? She knew that being big and hairy made finding and wearing clothes difficult but didn't they have Big & Tall stores just for those kinds of men? Hell, even dogs nowadays wore clothes. And they didn't even have opposable thumbs. Let alone checking accounts.

As he examined Rogue's bio-signs on the monitor, Dr. McCoy heard her give another long, drawn out sigh and repressed a smile. For being one of the most powerful mutants in the world, young Rogue seemed to have a bit of paranoia about hospitals. Of course, he really couldn't blame her for it. She did have an unerring knack for ending up in them. He watched the colorful squiggles on the screen blip, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. As always he was fascinated by Rogue's genetic make-up, so different from anything other mutant's he had ever seen. Normally he would have been just as frustrated as intrigued but today, today he had had a breakthrough. Questions had been answered. The mystery had been finally solved. He finally knew the source of Rogue's power, as well as her inability to control it. At least, he had a pretty good idea. Well, it was more like an inclination. Maybe a—

She sighed again. "Are we almost done here Mr. McCoy?" Rogue asked the boredom evident in her voice.

"Almost. We're just waiting for the Professor to get here. There are some things I need to discuss with him and I want him to see this."

Rolling her eyes, she tried to shift again and got the same result. "Mah butt's starting to fall asleep."

He glanced over his shoulder at her and raised one bushy eyebrow. "I have an assortment of very powerful medicinal drugs down here, Rogue. I could put you to sleep if you'd like."

She eyed him balefully. "Now, Mr. McCoy, you shouldn't make promises you aren't goin' to keep."

He chuckled lightly. "Is it really that bad?"

She raised her arms, looking a little like a marionette puppet. "Mah jaw feels like someone hit me with a sledgehamma. Mah body feels like Ah've got pin and needles all over. And to top it all off Ah have wires where God did not intend for there to be wires."

"I am truly sorry about the discomfort Rogue, but I assure you, that they are necessary."

"Ah know that," she muttered quietly. "Ah just wish they weren't necessary quite so often."

The doors to the Med-Lab slid open with a hiss and the Professor streamed in, hands folded on his lap. He nodded briefly to Dr. McCoy and wheeled his way over to Rogue.

"Rogue. How are you feeling?" he asked in his kind, quiet voice. For some reason, it never failed to soothe her nerves.

"Kinda like a science experiment."

He smiled at her and turned to face Dr. McCoy. "Mr. McCoy? What information do you have for us?"

The doctor moved over to the door and flicked off the room's overhead lights so that they could see the information displayed on the flat, wall screens. The odd assortments of bars, lines, and numbers swirled in a colorful, confusing dance. Rogue briefly considered trying to understand them, then decided it wasn't worth adding to her headache.

"Mutation is caused by a specific gene that we in the business like to call the X gene," McCoy began, pointing to picture of a blue spiral. "Basically what the X gene does is it gives certain cells of the body a secondary genetic code. All cells develop a certain code; some become liver cells, some skin cells, some heart cells. But in mutants, certain cells pull a kind of double duty. We'll use Scott as an example." He pushed a few buttons on the side of the screen and new squiggle showed up on the screen. Rogue tilted her head and tried to decide if it looked the same as the last squiggle. It's hard to tell with squiggles.

"In Scott's case, his eye cells developed a secondary code. First and foremost, they work as regular eye cells, allowing him to see. They also act as billions of tiny storage units; they absorb solar energy and store it until it is released."

Rogue raised one hand half way. "Uh, that's great Mr. McCoy, but what does that hafta do with me?"

Dr. McCoy shook one finger at her. "I'm getting there, Rogue. You wouldn't want me to just blurt it all out, would you?"

"Um . . . . yeah, I kinda would."

He ignored her. "Now in Rogue's case, her X gene acts differently, which is why I had so much trouble identifying how her powers work."

"Figures."

The screens switched again and Rogue felt her eyes widen. Those squiggles were definitely different than the ones before. They looked . . . . kinda like little Pac-Men.

"At first, it looks like none of Rogue's cells have a secondary code. When she is at rest, all of her cells function normally. But, as it turns out, ALL of her cells have two codes."

"ARGH! Just spit it out already! What do they do and what the hell did Mystique do to me?"

With a broad smile, Dr. McCoy stepped closer to Rogue and tapped a finger against her forehead. "Since you asked so nicely. What all of your cells do, is absorb energy. When they absorb the energy, their code is altered by it, giving you that mutant's abilities. When you use up the stored energy, the code is no longer being affected, and it reverts back to its normal state. However, it's not possible for you to use up all of the energy, so there are micro amounts left over that your body continues to store. Kind of like a fingerprint. At some point, your body began producing its own energy, which allowed for you to begin using all the powers you had previously sampled. What Mystique seems to have done to you, is to have simultaneously removed the other signature codes while implanting a different code, one that prevents your cells from absorbing energy."

She stared at him, jaw open slightly. "Okay. So why can't Ah control mah powers?"

He moved back to the wall screen and brought up an image of what she assumed was her brain. Deep in the center was a small, red circle about the size of a quarter. He pointed to it with one furry finger.

"This is the problem. Your X gene is connected with this part of your brain. At some point, for some reason, this part of your brain shut down. At first I thought maybe it was from some sort of head trauma, but you've had Wolverine's healing ability several times now. It should have been repaired. Which leads me to believe," he cast a look over at the Professor who sat silently, "that its origins are mental."

Rogue frowned at that. "You mean like Ah had a mental breakdown or something?"

There was a slight pause. "Something like that."

"Great. Ah'll just flip through mah handy-dandy mental breakdown files and figure out which one it was. There's only been about three thousand in the last week or so." She sighed and scratched her neck. "This thing that Mystique did. The injecting of the new code or whateva . . . . is it bad? Ah mean health wise. 'Cause, if this things kills me, Ah'm gonna be upset."

"I'm not sure. I'll have to run some more tests."

Another sigh. "Ah thought you might say that."

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Later that evening, finally free from the circus of medical tubes, tests, and strange, blinking screens, Rogue stood outside her room on her balcony, arms resting on the railing as she stared up into the night sky, trying to forget the various aches and pains that plagued her body. Her jaw throbbed painfully; she had refused Dr. McCoy's offer of pain medication. She didn't like the way medication made her feel sleepy and out of it. Her fingers curled over the railing, into the grooves she had made nights earlier. Next time she saw Mystique, she was going to give the blue-skinned bitch a beating like she had never had before. In fact, she made a mental note to start carrying a tire iron around with her. Because you just can't leave these things to fate. She started to turn back into the mansion (to head down into the garage and find her new weapon of choice) when she heard an odd hooting sound. It sounded a bit like an owl was trying to throw up. Her face scrunched as she turned her head to the left and then to the right. She saw nothing.

"Up here, cherie."

Raising her eyes, she was just in time to see Gambit as he dropped from the tree that towered over the balcony. He landed silently, his long coat fluttering around him. She raised one eyebrow at him.

"Please tell me that was not you a second ago."

Gambit frowned as he stood up. "Why?"

"Because that was the worst owl impression Ah have eva heard."

"Owl? Dat was a nightingale, cherie."

"That was definitely not a nightingale. Nightingale's don't hoot."

"Maybe you jus' not talkin' to the right nightingales."

Rogue held up one hand and shook her head, feeling her head begin to throb as well. "Nevamind. What are you doin' here?"

Reaching into his overcoat, he came up with a folded piece of brown paper. "Gambit brought you a present. But if you gonna be snippy, he ain't gonna give it to you."

Her eyes nearly burned a hole in him. "Look swamp rat, Ah' just spent the last six hours being poked, prodded, and injected. Ah WILL kill you, and it WILL be messy."

He held out the piece of paper silently. Warily, she snatched it from his fingers and unfolded it, holding it back towards the window so that the light from inside could fall on it. Written in a small, scratchy handwriting were a series of numbers. She lifted her eyes to his.

"What? Is there a treasure chest buried here or somethin'?"

Gambit snatched the paper back from her and waved it annoying in front of her face. "Non, but dis is where dat helicopta carryin' Mystique landed 'bout two hours ago."

She grabbed it back. "Where did you get this from?"

He shrugged and grinned slyly. "Called in a favor. So how 'bout it cherie? You wanna drop in and pay Mystique a visit? Maybe give her a housewarmin' present." His staff appeared in his hand and he twirled it skillfully, snapping it down against the stone balcony with a heavy thud. Rogue glanced down at the paper and then turned to stare back into her room. Running off after Mystique with only a moral corrupt Cajun as back-up was probably a very bad idea. She should go back inside and tell the Professor. He'd call everyone together and they'd go after Mystique as a team. Smarter and less chance of something bad happening. Then Mystique's face swam through her mind, smiling mockingly.

_I've gotten all I need from you, sweetheart._ Fuck that.

She turned back to him. "We're gonna need to take the X-Jet."

Still grinning, he held up one fist and open his hand. A set of black keys dangled from his fingers. "You want a minute to pack, cherie?"

Rogue met his gaze with her own and couldn't keep the smile from twisting her lips. Her pulse began to heat with excitement; she could feel it pounding in the back of her head. And he stood there, half illuminated by the light that streamed out of the balcony window. His hair had been tousled by the night wind, there was a hint of stubble on his razor-sharp cheeks, and his eyes watched her with a devil-may-care attitude in them.

Damn if he wasn't sexy as sin.

She closed the distance between them so that she was only an arms length away. "If we're going to do this," she said, keeping her eyes on his, "then we need to get somethin' outta the way first."

He leaned against his staff slightly, his head cocked to the side. "And what's dat?"

Instead of answering, she took a final step forward, reached up behind his head, and dragged his head down. Just a second before his lips crushed against hers, she could hear cheering coming from inside her mind. Then their mouths met and she couldn't hear anything at all. Couldn't think anything except, _why didn't Ah do this sooner?_ His lips were softer than they looked and warm. They fit over hers as if they had been cut from the same mould. Tiny shivers ran down her spine and slid over her skin as she felt the tip of his tongue and tasted his hot breath.

She surprised him. Again. Normally Gambit didn't care for surprises, but when they came like this, he was all for them. He recovered quickly and met her assault with one of his own. One arm he wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer so that their bodies pressed against each other. The other slid up to her face, cupping her cheek against his palm and then sliding back into her hair. He didn't question why she was kissing him. Nor did he question why she seemed to fit so perfectly in his arms. He did, however, question why she tasted a little like grape bubblegum. She didn't seem to him like the type to chew Bubbalicious. Then he felt her shudder against him and completely forgot about everything except the sweet sensation of having her mouth pressed against his.

Rogue drew back slowly, reluctant to release his lips. They eyes opened at the same time and they each drew in identical long breaths. She saw the desire swimming in his strangely enticing eyes and it sent a thrill through her. It took her a moment before she could speak.

"Well. Now that that's taken care of. Let's go."


	14. The Things Better Left Unsaid

Author's Note

Gah. This chapter and I did not really get along very well. I kept trying to write it, it didn't want to be written, then we argued a bunch and I'm not sure that we're on speaking terms at this particular moment. Anyway, kind of an unhappy chapter but they do pop up every once and a while. Sorry it took so long to get up. And I'm sorry to say that we're getting close to the end of the story. Should be just a couple more chapters.

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There was a storm brewing outside the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. The wind had kicked up, howling maniacally as it tore through the trees, bending them like they were made of rubber instead of solid wood. Branches snapped and leaves were ripped away, sent spiraling through the air. Overheard the sky was pregnant with heavy story clouds, thick and as black as the empty space they hid from sight. Lightening flashed, leaping from the clouds to the ground, scorching some distance bit of grass. Thunder rolled and crashed like the screeching brakes of a subway car. The rain would be coming soon and it would be no gentle summer shower.

Despite the weatherman's insistence.

Inside the school a very different kind of storm was brewing. The students themselves were calm, even blissfully quiet for once, caught up in their evening activities. But there was a weight in the air. A kind of feeling that something was going to happen. Some secret exposed. Some theft uncovered. Some bad decision made. And all that could be done was to wait and see.

The headmaster's office was perhaps a bit small, but more than made up for the lack of space with its furnishings. A cherry oak antique desk. Walls lined from top to bottom with books; priceless first and second editions, as well as not so priceless textbooks with glossy covers and highlighted pages. The lamp on the desk was more than eighty years old and lovingly kept. At the moment, it was off, keeping the room in darkness broken only by the flickering flames that crackled with the stone fireplace.

Professor Charles Xavier watched their reflections dance in the window pane as he stared out over the front lawn. Behind him, on a flat screen monitor, were medical records; the tests that had been performed earlier on one of the students.

_Codename: Rogue. Identity: Unknown. Mutation: Absorbs memories, psyche, abilities, and life energy through skin-to-skin contact. _

He had studied them thoroughly, taking in the information as well as the observations and thoughts of the doctor who had performed the tests.

_McCoy, H. Subject's abilities appear to have blocked by a short energy blast of unknown specifications. Has resulted in subject being unable to absorb energy or use previously store energy patterns._

Folding his hands, Xavier rested his chin on top of them, his eyes focused on the darkness outside, seeing only the files as they flipped through his mind.

_Upon re-examining X-rays taken of the subject on 4.23.05 (see file 37689-R7) I have discovered a slight mark between vertebrae 5 and 6, suggesting a possible break or fracture. The mark is gone in X-rays taken on 5.20.05, most likely due to the use of the accelerated healing factor previously absorbed from __X-man__00004__, codename: Wolverine. If this mark is an indication of a break, it may be the cause of the subject's short term paralysis._

But try as he might to focus on the rigid, unyielding scientific facts that streamed through his mind, he found his thoughts drifting elsewhere. To other thoughts. And other memories. Or, better put, the memories of others.

_There appears to be a connection between the subject's x-gene and a portion of the brain located near the stem. It is my opinion that the subject's lack of control of abilities as a result of some traumatic event. It is possible that the subject is unaware of this memory and its continual repression is the cause of the failure to control. _

Had he seen that memory? He had been inside Rogue's mind before, had been given a glimpse into the chaos that had implanted itself in the young woman's head, forcing her to contend with a host of voices and psyches not her own. There had been so much to see, memories and thoughts flying by, but it had been difficult to separate the absorbed memories from her memories. And he hadn't been there to sort through them; he had been there to purge them. Quickly and forcibly. But he had seen a few scenes from her past, snapshots that had blurred by, some normal, some difficult.

Some more than difficult.

He lowered his forehead to his hands, suddenly feeling very old and very fragile.

Someone knocked on his door.

"Come in."

The door cracked open and Scott stuck his head in. He stumbled all the way in when the door was pushed open further. Logan stood behind him, half a cigar clamped in between his teeth.

"Yes, Scott?" The Professor turned away from the window and gave the ruby-eyed teenager his attention. Scott rubbed at the back of his neck.

"I just thought you should know that I went by Rogue's room and she isn't there. I did a sweep of the mansion and couldn't find her. Nobody else has seen her either. Not since dinner."

Xavier closed his eyes briefly, sending his thoughts racing out over the grounds. "No," he said, opening them again. "She isn't here."

Logan pulled the cigar out of his mouth. "We got a bigger problem, Charles. X-jet is missin'."

Frowning, Xavier turned back to the window.

The rain began to fall.

0000000000000000000000000000

Flying the X-jet wasn't particularly difficult under normal circumstances. Rogue had done it on a number of occasions. Flying the X-jet in the middle of a thunderstorm was only slightly more challenging. She had managed to do it before without dire consequences. But flying the X-jet while a sinfully sexy Cajun sat inches away, doing marvelously delightful things to her ear with his tongue was just a tad more than difficult and a good deal more than challenging.

It was damn near impossible.

She closed her eyes briefly and shivered at the feeling of his warm breath whispering over her skin. She wanted to tell him to stop; she really did. Because otherwise, someone was going to be scraping them off the pavement after she crashed the jet into the parking lot of a mini-mall or something. (Having concluded at a young age that she would die a horrible death, Rogue had felt, and still felt, that the most horrendous place she could think to die was within sight of a shopping mall. At least, at the time of her death she would finally know whether or not God hated her. If it took place outside the mall, God didn't mind her. Inside the mall extreme hatred.)

"Uh . . . Remy? You're really goin' hafta cut that out before Ah turn us into a fiery ball of death." Rogue winced slightly at the words as they tumbled of her mouth. Usually she didn't give a damn about the things she said; whatever she thought, she spoke. But now the words sounded a little . . . . rough in her ears. She couldn't seem to help it though. With him sitting so close, constantly running his fingers over the back of her hand, blowing air in her ear . . . . Christ, her brain was starting to fizzle. And when you're flying a very expensive and complicated piece of equipment, your brain really needed to be in on the experience.

It took Gambit a few moments to focus in on what she had said. He pulled his head back away from her neck and blinked slowly, looking a little like a drug addict coming down from a high. In some ways, that was exactly how he felt. Like someone had pumped a needle full of heroin directly into his brain. And though he had never been one for "chemical stimulants", as Magneto had once referred to them, he found that he didn't mind this particular feeling all that much. He felt a bit like he was floating and at the same time, it felt like he weighed a million pounds. He felt stuffed with her; his eyes, his nose, his skin. He couldn't bring himself to stop touching her—her hair, her skin, her lips—couldn't seem to get close enough. At this point, his brain informed him, if you get any closer, you'll meld together. Meld together. Well now, dat didn't sound too bad.

"Ya know, cherie. Wit' yore powers on de blink, dis could be the only chance for us to be toget'er."

Rogue slowly turned her head away from the dozen of blinking lights in front of her. She stared at him. Minutes ticked by silently.

"You didn't really think that was gonna work, did you?" she wanted to know.

Gambit scratched at his chin. "It was worth a shot, non?" Folding his arms across his chest, he stretched his legs out as far as he could manage. "How much longer till we git dere?"

She glanced back at the panel. "About an hour."

"Jus' enuff time fore Gambit to take a nap." He gave her a sideways glance and a grin. "Unless cherie changes her mind and—"

"Is _everything_ about sex with you?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully and considered the question. Everyt'ing? Dat was a lot of t'ings. Hmmm. His mouth opened slightly and then snapped shut. Hmmm. Everyt'ing?

"Oui," he said finally, nodding.

Shaking her head, she gave a little huff. "Ah'm so glad the one thing Ah know about you is that you're a sex-crazed Cajun."

"Actually, dat's two things. Sex-crazed and Cajun."

"It's going to be three things in a second. Sex-crazed, Cajun, and dead."

"Gambit not sure how sex-crazed he'll be when he's dead." At her seething glare he threw his head back and laughed. He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "Gambit's an open book, cherie. You ask anyt'ing you like."

There was just something about his easy-going manner that pissed her off. Scowling, she turned back to the controls, her shoulders hunched. She could hear him chuckle quietly and it made her grit her teeth. Damn frustrating Cajuns. Damn frustrating boys in general. Against her will, her eyes slid over to him, taking in the long length of him, the broad shoulders, the stubble that darkened his cheeks. Okay. Not boy. Man.

Damn frustrating men.

In an abrupt motion, she punched at the controls to put the jet into auto-pilot and swung to face him.

"Tell me what happened that night."

Gambit's face instantly pokered up. He had been hoping she had forgotten about that, or else remembered it on her own. He didn't want to remember the crazed, dead cold expression that had been on her face, the blood on her hands. Nor did he want to explore whatever had caused her to spin so out-of-control.

"Which night you talkin' 'bout? Dey all so cluttered in Gambit's sex crazed mind."

She shook her head and he could see the seriousness in her eyes. And underneath it, the subtle plea. "Don't play with me. You know what night Ah mean. Ah remember talkin' with you in the bar and then Ah was back in mah room. Ah saw you," she said, remembering the glowing red eyes. "What happened after Ah left the bar?"

He thought about lying to her; telling her that he didn't know. That he hadn't left the bar. He knew he was a good enough liar to convince her. But as he looked at her face, calm and steady as it stared back at him, he knew that he couldn't. In fact, he was a little afraid that he'd never be able to lie to her again.

"You shore you want to know?" he asked finally, hoping she might change her mind at the last second.

She nodded.

"Alright," he said. But he didn't begin right away. He rubbed a hand over his face and stared out the front windows of the jet, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. Talking wasn't exactly his strong suit. Flirting? Yes. Talking? Not so much. Pro'lly best to start at de beginin'. But where was the beginning?

"You remember gettin' all huffy and leavin' de bar?"

Rogue shook her head again. "No. Ah remember kickin' your ass and leavin' the bar, though."

He winced slightly. "Right. Anyways, Gambit decided to follow you, 'cause you intrigued him. Most femmes like to . . . . wrestle with Gambit, not kick his ass."

"And we're back to sex. How surprising."

"So Gambit went outside, even d'ough it was five million degrees below zero—"

"People are crazy to live up here."

"You can say dat again. Anyway, you weren't outside, so Gambit asked some femmes if dey had seen you. Dey were real polite—"

"Ah jus' bet they were."

"—and dey pointed out which direction you'd headed in. Gambit started walkin'." He paused slightly, because the memory was slowly beginning to sharpen. And he really didn't want it to. "Dere was a scream. T'ought it might be you."

She felt herself breathe in sharply. "But it wasn't me."

"Non. You weren't the one who was screaming. Dere was another girl. And four men. Looked like dey had roughed her up some." He had to stop again. It felt like he was trying to force a hunk of lead through his throat. Was this what the telling the truth felt like? No wonder he had taken to avoiding it at all costs. Or maybe some truths were just worse than others. Because they had the power to change things. Her. Him. Them. Something was going to change.

"Three of de men were down when I got there." His voice had lost some of its drawl. "You had de fourth one in your hand. And you were . . ." He trailed off, his eyes shifting around the cabin, until finally they met hers. He wanted her to tell him to stop. That she didn't want to know. But she didn't. She continued to wait, body braced as if expecting a blow, her eyes steady on his.

"And you were killin' him. Beatin' him with your fists. Dey were covered in blood. I yelled for you to stop, but I don't t'ink you could hear me. I tried to grab your arms, but you one strong femme when you angry, cherie. Pro'lly when you not angry." He said it without any humor. "I got hold of your neck. Was gonna try and knock you out but couldn't get a clear shot. So I broke your neck." The words tumbled out of him like a waterfall, expelled in nearly one breath. He waited for her to say something, but she only sat there.

"Dat's pretty much it. You were unconscious and I carried you back to your room. Den I left. Nearly got gutted by your guard dog on de way out." He tried for humor that time but it fell flat between them. There was an itch between his shoulder blades as a heavy silence descended, pressing down with an unidentified weight. Gambit rolled his shoulders and caught himself just before he started to squirm in his chair. He hadn't done that since he'd been a child, scolded for doing something. He wished she'd say something.

She remembered. Something that felt a lot like a tiny bolt of lightning had shot through her brain and she remembered. Could see the images clearly. Could hear the ugly sounds. Could smell the horrible mixture of sweat and alcohol. Could feel the smack of skin against skin. And it was as if she had been suddenly transported back in time to that night. Her mind had hidden it away and now she was going to try and drag it out into the light. Rogue lifted her head and saw him watching her, a mix of concern, sadness, and fear splayed across his face.

"Ah was raped."

She saw his face change. Surprise. Shock. Question. Anger. She shook her head before he could speak.

"Not by one of them. By mah father." She gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Ah don't know if he was really mah father. But that's what Ah called him. Daddy. Mystique had adopted me when Ah was about four, but he raised me. Then one night, when Ah was eleven, he came home drunk. Told me he had a present for me. And then he raped me." Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears and she felt disconnected from her own body, as if someone else had taken over and was telling the story.

"Ah remember beggin' him to stop. It hurt. It hurt so bad. And then there was somethin' else besides the pain. One time in school, the teacher had us all form a circle and hold hands. Then she ran a weak current through us to light a light bulb. It felt a little like that. Only stronger. It hurt him. Ah could feel him tryin' to let go of me. But it was like our skin was stuck together. And then . . . and then Ah was him. Ah could feel everythin' he had been feelin' when he had been raping me. It made me throw up."

She stopped, pressing a hand to her mouth and Gambit knew she was feeling everything all over again. There was a painful ache in the center of his chest that he didn't recognize and a violent buzzing in his mind that he knew was his temper. His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides and he knew exactly how Jean Luc had felt all those years ago.

"Ah killed him. Held on so long that Ah killed him. And then Mystique came. She said that Ah had been given a very special gift." Rogue's jaw tightened. "She had known what he was going to do. She set it up. She set the whole thing up. To jump start mah powers. And to make sure Ah couldn't control them." She exhaled a sharp, short breath and looked at him. "What do you think about that?"

Her chin was set in a gesture of defiance and her face was dry, but Gambit could see the tears filling her eyes. She seemed unwilling to let them fall. There was sadness and anger in her expression, and behind it, there was a bone-deep exhaustion. How tired she must be, he thought, of being forced to constantly wade upstream through life, always ducking to avoid blows that would drop anyone else, always having to question the motives of others, never being allowed to reach out on account of her powers as well as the untrustworthiness of seemingly every person she came in contact with.

No, he'd never be able to lie to her again.

Gambit felt his anger slowly drain out of him to be replaced with something much bigger and much more powerful. He had to swallow because his mouth had gone dry. Then he took a deep breath.

"Is dis a bad time time to tell you that Gambit t'inks he might be fallin' in love wit' you?"

She stared at him for a long while. Then gave a short laugh. The tears began to fall silently. And when he reached for her, she buried her face in his chest and cried.


	15. Santa Claus And The Middle Of Nowhere

The coordinates that Gambit had gotten, (legally, he assured Rogue with one of his charming grins, which in turn instilled a very large amount of doubt in her) took them north into Canada, out past the winking lights of the sprawling cities and into the long, endless stretches of frozen tundra. As the X-Jet lowered onto the snow covered ground, the relentless rain that had followed them from New York shifted into stinging pellets. Gambit stared out at the whiteness as it whipped about, clicking against the metal of the jet. The ramp hummed as it dropped, settling down onto the snow, a wide strip of black in an otherwise colorless world. He knew, even before the wind slipped up into the jet and blew through him, that it was bitch ass cold out. His hands lifted to his mouth and he warmed his fingers with his breath. Rogue stepped up beside him, a long coat folded over her arm. He shot her a pained look.

"Chere, Gambit needs to tell you sumthin'."

Smilingly sympathetically, she patted him on the shoulder. "Ah hate snow, too."

He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Dere, you see? Knew we were perfect for each other."

Rolling her eyes, she tugged her fingers free and shoved her arms into her heavy brown coat. "Well, you might want to wait till we get outta here alive before you go ahead an start makin' weddin' plans."

Gambit paled visibly. "Wedding?"

She could hear the terror in his voice and it made her laugh. Really laugh. And it felt good. Like a curtain that had been both dark and heavy had finally been lifted. Her smile sweetened as she reached out and gave his cheek a sassy little pat before moving past him, out into the snow storm.

"Why, shore sugah. Don't want you slippin' away from me, now that you've declared your love an' all."

Involuntarily, Gambit tugged at the collar of his shirt. It suddenly felt just a tad bit too tight. Then, frowning, he jammed his hands into the deep pockets of his coat and followed her out. The wind that had snuck onto the Jet had been a breeze compared to the gusts that raged outside. Snow swirled through the air, mixing with the freezing rain to form a nearly impenetrable wall of ice. Gambit pulled his coat tighter to him and ducked his head, shivering as he felt the air's cold fingers trail through his hair and down the back of his neck. He felt like he was in a wind tunnel; if the wind tunnel was five hundred miles long.

"How come 'dese bad guy always gotta hole up in de North Pole," he complained, practically shouting though she was only a foot or so away. Still, Rogue had trouble hearing him over the howling of the wind.

"Tax breaks, probably. Anyway, we're not in the North Pole. We're in Canada."

Gambit glanced around, his eyes scrunched to keep them from watering. "What's de difference?"

She considered for a moment. "Santa Claus."

He shot her his very best did-you-really-just-say-that look and was disappointed to see that her body was angled away from him, her head bent slightly as she looked at something inside of her coat.

"Anyway," she continued, looking up after a moment. "Let's get moving. There's some kinda infrastructure just up ahead."

Lifting a hand to his eyes, Gambit tried to peer through the cloud of white that danced around them, but couldn't see anything. "How can ya tell?" he wanted to know.

She turned her wrist and he saw the thing she had been looking at. It was a small black rectangle with a wide screen and a tiny keypad. Very similar to a palm pilot. There were a few blips of green and red pulsing on the screen.

"Radar," she answered. With her pinky finger, she pointed to a green dot. "This is the building. About two hundred feet to the north." Her finger shifted to the red dot. "This is where we are, and where they'll find our frozen corpses if we don't get moving."

Moving forward, however, wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded. It was like trying to wade through shoulder deep water while waves continued to crash all around. For every three steps they took, the wind blew them back two. And it didn't help that they jackets they both had, while long and excellent for striking dramatic poses, were not at all suitable for blizzard conditions. Their teeth were chattering before they had managed to make it half way and by the time they reached the tiny shack-like building that had been on the radar, their lips were a light shade of blue.

They had to circle the shack twice before they found the door. Only to find out it was locked. Gambit took half a second to examine the simple key lock; of the sort one would find at a Wal-mart. He considered, briefly, picking it and then decided, what the hell, he didn't like Mystique. Why try and preserve her property? He reached out with one hand, curled his fingers around the cold metal, and sent the particles beneath his skin into a frenzy.

There was a loud pop, and the lock unlatched, falling and disappearing into the snow. Grabbing the door handle, Gambit shoved against the door with his shoulder and stepped inside, Rogue just behind him.

Brushing snow out of his hair, he glanced around the empty room. "Dis is de worst evil lair Gambit ever seen."

Rogue pushed the door closed, shutting out the wind and reducing its cries to a faint echo. "Ah suppose Magneto's lair was much better?" she asked, patting at her coat, sending a small amount of flakes swirling.

Lifting his shoulders, he reached up and tapped the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling. Light flickered wildly for a moment. "Well, at least dere was a Christmas tree."

She eyed him with some disbelief. "You're tellin' me that the self-proclaimed 'Master of Magnetism' keeps a Christmas tree in his secret hideout?"

Gambit scratched at his chin. "Oui. Den again, me'be it was a thermal nuclear death ray. Dey kinda look de same."

Chuckling, Rogue gave her coat one last brush before turning her attention to the room. She could see that Gambit was right; it certainly didn't look like much of an evil lair. It didn't look like much of anything other than an empty shack with a concrete floor and rusty metal walls. There was no furniture, no cabinets, nothing to suggest anyone had been there. Ever. And yet, it seemed familiar. She searched through her memories but couldn't recall having been there before. Of course, that didn't mean very much, considering that there were huge parts of her past that she couldn't remember at all. Her eyes roamed over the walls, over the large splotches of orange and red that were spreading across the dull grey surface. They paused at a black box that hung at chest level.

"Ain't a whole lotta room to park a helicopter," Gambit said, scraping the toe of one boot across the floor. "Guess my source was wrong."

Rogue didn't hear him. She flipped open the box and stared at the row of switches. A circuit box. Normal. She bit her bottom lip. But why would a shack with only one room and one light have a circuit box with sixteen switches? One slim finger reached out and ran down the switches. None of them were label. On a whim, she stopped at the sixth one down and moved under it. As she began to flick it up, the entire panel shifted slightly. She pushed up again until the panel lifted enough for her other hand to grab hold of its edge. Behind it was a second panel, much more high tech than a simple circuit box. There was a shiny silver keypad with ten buttons, numbered from zero to nine.

Gambit came up behind her and pursed his lips as he looked over his shoulder. "Kinda complicated for one light bulb."

Rogue tapped a finger against her mouth and set her other hand on her hip. "Mah thoughts exactly."

"Give Gambit 'bout a minute and he'll crack it."

She smiled and shook her head. "Ah don't doubt it. But there are a few benefits to havin' absorbed Mystique. One of those is knowing that she always uses the same pass code. And the other," she began, her fingers flittering over the number pad. There was a low beep and part of the floor that had looked like solid concrete, slid away to reveal a staircase. "Is knowing what that pass code is."

He looked at her, then at the secret entrance, then back to her. "Yeah, Gambit t'inks you right. We should get married."

Rogue set the false panel back into place and started down the steps. "You think about what color tux you want an' Ah'll think about the flower arrangements. We'll pick a date right afta we kick the livin' shit outta Mystique."

Sighing, Gambit laid a hand over his chest. "De t'ought warms Gambit's heart, cherie."

"Practically sets mahne on fire."

Together, they descended. The stairs did not go very far down, perhaps twenty feet or so, before leading into a long tunnel. There were more bulbs there that hung from the ceiling and the white light from them looked greenish as it hit the walls on either side of them. Again Rogue was struck with a sense of familiarity. An echo of one of Mystique's memories, she thought and tried to ignore the itchy feeling at the back of her neck. There was something bad there. Something _very_ bad. She could feel it. Beside her, Gambit reached into his cloak and pulled out his staff. A slide of his thumb had it extending to four feet. Rogue caught his eye and felt a small measure of comfort. He felt it, too.

At the end of the tunnel was a single door, metal, without any visible locks or keypads. Rogue took hold of the doorknob, felt it turn easily. Taking deep breath, she glanced over at Gambit. He nodded slowly, and tightened his grip on his staff. His other hand came up; four playing cards were tucked in between his fingers, ready to become instant missiles. She turned back to the door. Quietly she pushed it open and stepped inside, her body braced for an attack, her eyes searching for movement.

She froze, her hand slipping off of the knob. Gambit, who had been expecting her to move all the way into the room, bumped solidly into her back.

"Irene?

The silver haired figure swiveled in a chair until she was facing Rogue, black sunglasses ever present, hiding her eyes and a good portion of her face.

"What are ya doin' here?" Rogue asked, disbelief pushing her forward until she was kneeling in front of the older woman. As if sensing she was near, Irene reached out and brushed a hand over Rogue's hair, smiling slightly.

"Waiting," she answered quietly.

Accustomed to the woman's cryptic speech, Rogue caught her hand in her own. "Waiting for what, Irene?"

While Rogue focused on the woman, Gambit turned his attention to the room. Like the shack, it was pretty much empty except for a few metal shelves, a small table, and the chair the woman was seated in. There were three doors; the one they had come in, one off to the right, and one to the left. Gambit narrowed his eyes and felt a slither of unease work its way down his spine. He had a bad feeling.

"Gambit take it you two know each other?" he asked as he stepped up behind Rogue, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two doors.

Rogue kept her eyes on Irene. "Yes. She helped take care of me when I was little. After my father . . . . died, she raised me. What are you waiting for, Irene?" she pressed. A million things were running through her head, all vying for her attention. Why was Irene there? Had Mystique kidnapped her? Was Irene working for Mystique? Was there no one in the world she could trust?

With her free hand, Irene reached up and pulled off the sunglasses. Milky white eyes stared down at Rogue, somehow seeing without seeing. The smile was gone from her lips.

"For the end of the world."

Blinking, Rogue stared at the woman in shock. Had she just said . . . .? "What are you talking about, Irene? What's going to happen?"

Irene's gaze lifted to stare off into empty space. As if she were reading off of a teleprompter, she began to speak in a voice that reverberated. "_The immortal shall rise, given new life by the one who is cursed to take it. In falsity and deceit he is reborn to become god over mortals._"

Gambit lifted his eyebrows warily. "What she talkin' about, cherie?"

"The future. Irene can see the future."

"She come wit' a translation manual?"

"_Under fists of steel the world shall submit and life, all life shall be crushed into the dust it was born of_." Her eyes returned to Rogue's and she reached out, clutching the younger woman's shoulders firmly. "Only you can stop him Rogue. There isn't much time."

Helplessly confused, Rogue could only stare blankly. "Who? Who can Ah stop?"

"Apocalypse."

Upon hearing the name, Rogue nearly fell backwards, would have if Irene's grip hadn't been so tight. "Me? How the hell am Ah supposed to stop him? Ah don't even know where the hell he is!"

"He's here. Through that door," Irene said, pointing to the left. She gave Rogue's shoulders a small shake. "You released him. Only you could release him. Now only you can destroy him."

Rogue's head was reeling. "But how?"

"Isn't this sweet? A little family reunion."

Rogue whipped around at the sound of Mystique's voice. The blue skinned shape shifter stood in the doorway to the right, her hands set on her hips and an expression of supreme satisfaction on her lips. Her gaze skimmed over Gambit and she sneered.

"Except for you. You're not family."

Gambit brushed a lock of hair back from his face, subtly shifting his grip on the cards in his hands. "Jus' one of d'ose t'ings to be t'ankful for."

Clenching her fingers into fists, Rogue got to her feet. As she glared at Mystique, she could feel the hate as it pounded through her veins. The woman had single handedly blighted every aspect of her life, without guilt and without remorse.

She was fucking tired of it.

"What are you doing with Irene?" she demanded.

"Doing? I'm not sure I know what you mean. Irene is always with me." Her yellow eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Don't you remember?"

The sense of familiarity flared again, but though she struggled to, Rogue could not remember what it was that pulled at her. Frustration built inside of her and began to spill over into anger. She took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to wipe the self satisfied smirk off of her adoptive mother's face.

Gambit stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Outta mah way, Remy. Unfinished business to take care of."

He shook his head and held his ground. "Non. You heard de lady. Only you got what it takes to stop Apocalypse. Remy'll take care of de blue skin." Gambit could feel her vibrating with fury behind him and unwanted, the memory of her in the alley came back to him. He knew that if he turned around he would see the same blank hatred etched on her features. He hoped she could keep it under control. Because now would not be a good time to break her neck again.

She moved and for a split second, he thought she was going to hit him.

But she had only stepped backwards.

Keeping her eyes on Mystique, Rogue moved towards Irene, taking the older woman's hands in her own and pulling her up from the chair. From the table beside the chair she picked up a long black cane with a white tip and handed it to Irene. Walking backwards, she headed towards the door on the left side. Mystique watched them both silently, without so much as blinking. Rogue pushed open the door, letting Irene walk through first. Then she stood in the doorway.

"Remy? Do me a favor."

"Anyt'ing, chere."

"Keep the corpse. Ah'm gonna want to kick it."

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Author's Note

Aye, another long update. Sorry about that guys, but Harry Potter madness has descended upon my bookstore and we're all catching it as we try and prepare for the big day. But we're getting really close to the end now. There's the big ass rumble between Remy and Mystique and a final showdown with Apocalypse. Both of which I'm planning to have some awesome action scenes. But now, I want to take a moment to give some shout outs to the awesome people who have been reviewing and enjoying my story, despite my less than stellar updating habits.

_SickmindedSucker_: Thanks for the review, glad you like the story! Yeah Mystique's one hell of a bitch, isn't she? I'm still trying to decide if I want her to die painfully or live horribly. On a lighter note, personally, I think everything would be better if everyone had a hot Cajun.

_Kool-Wolf_: Thanks! Glad you like it.

_MidniteAngelGoth_: Well I'm glad you found me. Thanks for digging the story.

_Cat2fat900_: Not sure how you missed the chapter but I'm glad you liked it. I remember in the old cartoon they had a little blip with Rogue's dad. He was throwing her out of the house 'cause she was a mutant and I was like 'Dude, that asshole!' Granted, he's a little worse in the fic but I think that's probably where the idea came from. Please keep the squirrels under control. They make the crack bunnies twitchy.

_jade_: Yeah, I've never liked Mystique. Except in the 2nd movie. Glad you liked it. Really sorry about the lack of updating.

_BOOM BOOM1_: Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it. It was hell to write.

_ishandahalf_: Ah, ishandahalf. My favorite reviewer. Thanks so much for sticking with me and enjoying my stories. Your reviews always inspire me to write more. Gonna be sad when the story ends. This'll probably be my last X-men fic. sniff. The poor crack bunnies. Where will they go?

_enchantedlight_: Thanks a lot!

_addtothenoise_: Thanks a bunch. Glad you liked it. I've always loved the Rogue and Gambit banter. Sometimes you just can't tell if they like each other or if they can't stand one another.

_her smile is magic_: Thanks!

_Wildcard186_: Glad you're enjoying it. I read this book once when I was a kid that had Loki, the Norse god of fire, lighting a cigarette with his fingers and I've wanted to have a character do it ever since.


	16. Here's To A Painful Death

Remy heard the door click shut behind him and let the grin spread wide across his face. A strange kind of elation filled him, coursing down his arms and legs in tiny rivers, and pooling in his fingers and toes, making them tingle slightly. He couldn't quite remember the last time he had so looked forward to a fight. Especially with such ruthless determination and enthusiasm for the outcome. Remy LeBeau had been many things in his young life; an orphan, a street rat, a son, a thief, a lover, an enemy. Before the night was over, he would add one of two titles to his long list. He'd either be a corpse or a killer.

And Remy did not plan on dying.

Ten feet away, her eyes locked on the grinning Cajun, Mystique did not share his confidence or his enthusiasm. A cold sliver of fear was slowly sliding down her neck like a dribble of ice water; a feeling she had not felt in a very long time. She had worked beside a number of madmen, beings capable of destroying the world with barely a hint of an effort. Hell, she had practically made it her life's work. And yet, none of them frightened her as much as the young man before her. Rogue's parting words rang clearly in her mind. _Keep the corpse_. Looking into Gambit's strangely hypnotic eyes, Mystique could tell that he planned on doing just that.

Still, she hadn't come so far, struggled through so much, and planned so carefully these past years just to see it all crumble into dust on account of her soul stealing daughter and her Southern boy toy.

Summoning her will, she worked up a sneer for him, while her twisted mind raced.

"Left behind to do the dirty work?"

His lips twitched as if he were holding back a laugh.

"Non," he answered, flicking his staff up and slinging it casually across his shoulders. "Gambit volunteered for dis."

Unconsciously the two began to circle each other, like vultures fighting over the same scrap of carrion. Mystique kept her eyes on the steel bo he carried so easily, as well as on the three playing cards that were tucked in-between his fingers, waiting for the tell-tale red glow.

Gambit returned her stare, his muscles tense beneath his long jacket, even as he gave the outward appearance of being relaxed. His mind, however, was anything but, too busy trying to guess her next move. What shape would it take? What shape would _she_ take?

"What can you possibly hope to gain from this? Killing me won't stop Apocalypse."

He raised an eyebrow. Though her voice was steady, he thought he detected a plea somewhere in there. That disappointed him. He hadn't expected her to start begging so early. "Rogue will stop Apocalypse. Killin' you . . ." His smile turned almost charming. "Dat's jus' for pleasure."

"And while you're 'indulging' yourself, who will be protecting Rogue?"

Her tone shifted slightly, becoming smoother and almost taunting. He paused for a moment, his smile faltering as he considered her words. It occurred to him that the blue skinned shape-shifter was right. Rogue was alone, on a collision course with what could be the world's most powerful mutant. All she had for backup was a blind woman. What kind of help could she give if there was something else lurking in the tunnels leading to Apocalypse?

Mystique saw his hesitation, the way his eyes slid away from hers to stare into empty space. She inched her way backwards, toward the door she had entered in from. His gaze shifted, focusing in again and pinning her.

"Rogue can take care o' herself," he said quietly. The smile was gone now. He watched her angle her body slightly, her left shoulder jutting forward, her right arm slipping out of view. In response, he leaned forward till he was resting on the balls of her feet.

"Can you?"

Her arm whipped forward and at the same time, she shoved back against the door, slamming the metal against the concrete wall. Gambit snapped his eyes shut a second before the tiny pellet hit the floor, cracking open with a blinding light. With one arm outstretched, he leapt after Mystique, his fingers catching the edge of the door before it could smash into his face. He let his momentum carry him through the doorway before he opened his eyes.

Just in time to see the black boot descending towards him.

Gambit threw his hand up and absorbed the blow with his forearm, feeling the pain radiate down his arm even as he swung out with his staff. It whooshed through the air, just barely missing Mystique's head as she ducked underneath it. With an easy grace, she flipped backwards, putting distance between herself and the Cajun, even as her eyes searched her surroundings for anything to use against him.

He gave the room a cursory glance as well, not willing to take his eyes off of his enemy for more than a few seconds. But there wasn't very much to take in. The room was larger than the others and had the feel of an underground military bunker with its high ceilings and damp, stained walls and floor. There was nothing in the room save for a few rusted metal shelves and several piles of long, thin tubes of steel. Mystique snatched one of them up, twirling it skillfully about her body.

"It doesn't have to go like this," she claimed, holding the make-shift staff diagonally in front of her. Gambit raised an eyebrow and subtly shifted his grip on his own bo, keeping it close to his side and pointed down at the floor. He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes and tilted his head slightly.

"Non?" he asked. "How else could it be?"

Mystique's yellow eyes flashed with a hint of uncertainity. But as quickly as it came, it was gone.

"We could be allies. Apocalypse will rule the earth. There is nothing strong enough to stand against him. Not Magneto. Not Charles Xavier. Not Rogue. Not even if all the mutants in the world stood against him. He will enslave them all."

Gambit eyed her balefully, his face carefully blank. "Dat would include you and me. Don't sound too temptin' to Gambit."

She laughed then and it was an unsettling sound in his ears. Close to a shriek and filled with a breathless desperation.

"I will stand on his right side." His eyes narrowed on her face, noting the lines of strain that appeared as she tried to convince him and herself. "And you. You could stand on his left. Whatever you want can be yours." Her voice changed, gaining pitch and a long, slow drawl. He watched as she shifted forms, her harsh features molding into softer, more familiar ones. "Anything you want," Rogue seemed to promise him, her green eyes boring holes in him. Gambit felt a small stirring of pity in his chest.

And ruthlessly squashed it.

"Sorry, but Gambit don't play so well wit' ot'ers," he replied. With a careless flick of his wrist, he charged his three cards and sent them flying. The white plastic rectangles glowed red as they cut through the air, humming lightly like miniature missiles locking in on their target. Mystique dodged to the right, cart wheeling out of the way and the cards exploded harmlessly against the wall behind her. But the message was crystal clear.

The time for talk was over.

She lunged forward, swinging the pipe towards his knees, hoping to catch him off guard and end the fight before it began. But Gambit had spent his entire life running loose on the streets of New Orleans, where one instant of distraction could mean the loss of a take. Or a beating. Or worse. He nimbly leapt over the pipe and snapped the end of his staff upwards. It whistled through the air and just barely grazed Mystique's cheek, drawing a thin stream of blood even as she threw her head back out of the way. She snarled as she felt the wetness sliding across her skin and swung out with her pipe again, this time aiming for his head. Gambit blocked it easily with his staff and punched out with his free hand. Faster than he had expected, her arm dropped to meet his. It snaked around his wrist and elbow, locking his arm. At the same time she stepped forward and drove her forehead into his face. Their heads met with a loud "crack."

Gambit stumbled backwards as light exploded behind his eyes but managed to stay on his feet. His vision wavered for a second and when it came into focus again, he saw Mystique kick out with a roundhouse. He ducked underneath the blow and, like a magician, had two more cards appearing in his hand. He charged them and tossed them down at her foot. Caught in mid-kick, there was no time for her to dodge.

The explosion sent her flying backwards. She landed on hard on her back and her fingers lost their grip on the pipe as her arm smashed down against the concrete. The steel weapon rolled away. Like a cat she flipped up onto all fours and reached for it, but Gambit's heavy boot came down on it with a "clink." Mystique stared up at him, her eyes flashing with hatred. He only smiled.

She lunged at him again, only this time Gambit found himself facing a sleek jaguar. It crashed into him, two hundred pounds of packed muscle, knocking him over. He tucked his chin to his chest to keep his head from slamming against the ground but could do nothing about the rest of his body. His shoulders skidded over the concrete, tearing holes in his jacket and shooting pain down his spine. There was no time to dwell on it though as Mystique snapped her teeth at him, blowing hot breath and saliva onto his face. Straining, he crossed his wrists and pressed them against her, struggling to keep her jaws from latching onto his throat. The rest of his body tried to wiggle free from the giant cat's weight, even as it squeezed the air from his lungs. Yellow eyes inched forward and razor sharp teeth chomped inches away from his head. His brain took a moment to register the unwelcome information that his entire head would likely fit inside her mouth.

Then his legs finally slipped into position. With a heaving grunt, he kicked up with his feet and, using her own momentum against her, pitched her over his head.

She twisted around in mid-air, managing to come down on all fours again. But even as she lifted her massive head to growl, four more playing cards streaked towards her. They struck her simultaneously in the head and chest and the explosion threw her across the room. She came down with a crash against the old rusted shelves, bending and breaking them. She felt sharp pain where the metal dug into her skin. Her form shifted back to humanoid and Mystique struggled to extricate herself from the steel wreckage, enraged to see blood smearing her arms and legs.

Through the cloud of smoke the explosion had created, she could see Gambit's shadow moving closer. She grabbed chunks of broken metal and hurled them at him.

Gambit felt one brush past the side of his head, grazing the skin. Another hit his shoulder and fell with a quiet thump. When he emerged from the smoke he faced a barrage of fists and feet. He dipped and dodged, his coat billowing about him as he threw his own hands up to block and strike. One of her kicks managed to slip through his guard and slam into his stomach. Bending slightly to accept the blow, he caught her foot before she could pull it back. His elbow connected with her knee with a sickening crack and she gave a strangled cry of pain. Stepping forward, Gambit swept her other leg out from under her, throwing her back to the ground. She struggled to get back to her feet, her hands reaching for her injured knee, but he lashed out with fist, catching her in the jaw. The blow spun her around onto her stomach.

Pain screaming through her, Mystique began to crawl, her fingers sliding across the ground, searching for a weapon, her mind viciously aware of the demon stalking behind her. A boot slammed down on her hand, snapping bones. A haze fell over her vision and she drew her broken fingers close to her, feeling her throat close with pain and tears she refused to shed. Suddenly there was weight between her shoulders, pushing her down onto the cold cement. Strong fingers dug into her hair, yanking her head back.

Gambit knelt on her back and stared into her eyes. He had watched her slither across the floor, broken and bleeding and his mind had replaced her form with Rogue's. Had she crawled away from the man she had killed? The man who had been like a father to her? The man who had shattered her? He imagined the pain she had felt and the tears she had wept as if they had been his own. All because of this woman, this _monster_ he had trembling under his weight. The rage that swept through him was like nothing he had ever felt before or would again. It ripped out of him like a grizzly bear tearing through a steel cage. He slammed her head against the floor, ignoring the blood as it splattered over him. Then again. And again.

He drew her face back one last time, the blue skin drenched in crimson. But the yellow eyes still held life in them. Her lips, swollen and split, moved slightly. Though her voice slurred as it moved through broken teeth and a mangled jaw, he heard her clearly enough.

"You won't kill me," she whispered. The pain was unbearable. Her face felt like it was on fire. Still, she struggled to speak. "You can't. X-men don't kill."

For a fraction of a second, the fingers in her hair relaxed.

And then she heard him chuckle. A long, drawn out sound that was mirrored in his voice.

"Gambit ain't an X-man."

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Author's Note

Woohoo. Sorry about another long delay but this was a tough chapter to write. I wanted just enough action without getting really really gory. Ok, so smashing someone's face against concrete is pretty fricking gory but I did leave out all the messy stuff. Mostly. Makes me squeemish. I'm really hoping to get the last chapter out soon because I'll be going back to school in a couple weeks and I'd like to have the story done before then. I'm going to try my best.

_Kool-Wolf_: Thanks!

_Nettlez_: Hey, thanks! Glad you liked Tic, Toc. That one was a little less angsty than this one, but I'm glad you decided to read this one too! Sorry about the long stretch between updates. Grrrr. Harry Potter Day was a nightmare. I shan't speak more of it. It's too painful. But if ONE more person comes into my store and tries to ruin the ending for some little kid, I'll . . . . do something not nice.

_ishandahalf_: I think in the future, just to shake things up a bit, I'll have the evil bad guy appear in the middle of a corn field or something. It seems like they're always popping up either in the desert, in the tropics, or in the artic. I was actually getting a bit tense just writing it. Hope this was a painful enough death for ya! Or is there MORE death on the way for Mystique?...that made more sense in my head.

_SickmindedSucker_: I hope this chapter lived up to its ass-kicking hype. It's really hard to write an entire chapter of fighting. Especially just two people fighting when you REALLY want to just go ahead and kill one of the characters.

_enchantedlight_: Thanks a lot!

_smiteme_: Glad you found my story and glad you're enjoying it! Ah, the crack bunnies are spreading. Today my story, tomorrow the world.

_Remy's Girl_: sincerely hope you haven't died of curiousity. thanks for digging the story. Hope you like this chapter. Yeah. Rogue and Remy rock.

_ragincajunlover_: Glad you like the story! I too enjoy sarcasm. Except when he bites. The gay guy was totally random. I was like, "who the hell WOULDN'T hit on Gambit?"

_Cat2fat900_: crack squirrels? Somehow, that sounds dangerous. and also AWESOME. actually, I'll admit it. squirrels make me nervous. Is that weird? I can't figure out where it comes from…..anyway, glad you're enjoying the story!


	17. The End

The door swung shut with an audible click and Rogue found herself staring at a thick sheet of dark, rusted metal. What had she done? She had left the man she was quite possibly falling in love with in a room with the woman who had been solely responsible for ruining every good thing that had ever happened to her. Shaking her head, she reached out to push the door back open. A hand reached out and wrapped around her wrist. Rogue turned and found Irene watching her with her sightless eyes.

"You have to trust him to do his own part," the older woman said quietly.

Rogue felt her lips curl down. "Ah don't even trust mahself anymore," she shot back, pulling her arm away. "How long Irene? How long have you been workin' with Mystique? Mah whole life? Has anything been real?"

Irene opened her mouth to speak but Rogue cut her off. "You know what? Forget it. Ah'm not interested in hearin' any more lies. Let's just do what Ah have to do and get outta here. Then Ah never want to see you again."

"You can be cruel, child." The older woman's voice was flat and toneless.

"Yeah, real surprisin' right? Considerin' all the love and tenderness Ah was raised on."

"Did you ever stop to think that if you hadn't been through all you've been through, you might not be where you are now? Who you are now?"

"And that would be a fuckin' _bad_ thing?" Rogue whirled around and stalked a few feet away, just barely resisting the urge to fist her hands in her hair. She felt like she had been her entire life stuck in a tiny cage, being poked and prodded just so that, eighteen years later, she could be pulled out and shown at a science fair. She wanted to scream, she wanted to claw, and she wanted to kick the _shit_ out of _somebody_. Turning back, Rogue held her arms out wide.

"Look at me Irene. Ah hate mahself. Ah hate mah life. Ah'm a mess."

"You're the only one who can save the world. You're its savior."

"Ah don't want to _be_ a savior! Ah never wanted to save the world. Ah just wanted to live in it."

"Live in it, but not take any responsibility for its welfare?"

Rogue folded her arms across her chest. "Now you're sounding like Professor X. Ah didn't ask for any of this. Ah didn't ask for Mystique to take a sick interest in screwin' up mah life."

"And I did not ask to be blind. To see only shattered fragments of the future. To know what will happen and be unable to stop it. But that is what I do."

"Why?"

Irene reached out again, this time resting her hand on her shoulder. "Because it is all I can do."

Rogue shook her head and pulled away. "No. Why are you working for Mystique? What's in it for you?" When the blind woman turned her sightless eyes away, Rogue pressed, "Ah deserve an answer, Irene."

For a moment, it didn't seem as if she would be given that answer. And then the words came tumbling out.

"I dreamed of you. Ever since I was a child." Irene closed her eyes and saw not the future, but the past. "Sometimes you were small. Other times you were grown up. And one day, a few days after I had turned sixteen, I saw you battling a giant man encased in a strange sort of armor. It was not the last time I had that particular vision. I've had it countless times over the years. Sometimes you are victorious. Other times, you are not."

Rogue shifted impatiently. "What has this got to do with Mystique?"

Irene's eyes flickered open. "I met Mystique many years before you were born. She was in trouble and needed help."

"Trouble she probably caused."

"Regardless, I offered her a place to stay. After all, we had something in common. We were both mutants and if you think anti-mutant sentiments are bad now, then you can't imagine what it was like then."

"So y'all bonded over bigotry. Great. Where do Ah fit in?"

"Mystique was interested in my visions. How they worked, what I saw, how often things came to pass. On one occasion, I told her of you and the man I saw you fighting. She wanted to know who he was. And who you were." A slight smile passed over Irene's face and she shifted toward Rogue. "I must say that I, too, was interested in knowing your identity. Mystique said we should try searching for you, and I agreed."

Irene paused, as if she was considering something. She shook her head and continued on. "Whenever I had a vision involving you, she would question me closely. For clues to your whereabouts. As well as information about the strange man. It was later that I learned that Mystique had always known his identity. Where she learned of Apocalypse, I do not know. But she knew that you were the key to finding him."

Lifting her head, Irene stared directly into Rogue's eyes. "We found you in an orphanage and Mystique arranged for your adoption. I began to have stronger visions, ones that involved the destruction of the world by a great black cloud. She seemed to think it could be controlled. I tried to tell her it would only bring ruin but she laughed at the idea. I knew the only way to protect you was to stay with her."

"Well ah hate the break it to you, but you did a lousy job of protectin' me." Rogue's voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you know what she was going to do to me? Ah want the truth, Irene. Did you know?"

Irene shook her head violently and when she spoke, her voice was just as low. "I swear. If I had known, I would have never have left you with him."

Folding her arms across her chest, Rogue turned her back to Irene. Part of her wanted to call the blind woman a liar. Part of her wanted to scream in frustration and anger. And part of her, one small part of her, wished that she could be five again and could simply throw her arms around the woman she had considered her mother and have everything be alright.

An impossible wish.

"Fine. Let's go."

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They moved quickly through a series of tunnels, each one exactly like the one before it; dark, damp, with rust stained concrete walls. Rogue could feel the subtle decline of the hallways and knew with each step they took, she and Irene were moving deeper into the earth. She bit her lip nervously. It was one thing to find Apocalypse and defeat him. It would be another to manage to get out alive. Rogue had been an X-man long enough to know that besting the bad guy did not necessarily mean the battle was over. There would probably be some kind of revenge mechanism or a sudden natural disaster to contend with. God was just spiteful like that. That is, of course, assuming that she actually could manage to take Apocalypse out. Maybe the world was just doomed.

Rogue glanced down at her hands and unconsciously slowed her steps. Just how the hell was she supposed to beat this guy anyway? Ask nicely for his surrender? The simple task of going after Mystique and giving her a red ass beat down had suddenly morphed into a vastly more dangerous and important task and Rogue wasn't entirely sure that she was up to it.

"Irene? Did Mystique happen ta have some corner 'round here where she could skulk up her evil plans?"

Irene shook her head. "No. Mystique did not come here often. I think some part of her fears the monster she has helped release. Why do you ask?"

Stopping in the middle of the corridor, Rogue set her hands on her hips. "Well, 'cause it's gonna be a bit tricky to beat this guy if Ah got nothin' to work with." At the confusion that crossed Irene's face, Rogue elaborated, "Mystique hit me with some kinda ray beam. Ah can't use mah powers. Or anyone else's for that matter."

To her enormous surprise, the blind woman waved her concerns away with one hand.

"Do not concern yourself with that."

One of Rogue's eyebrows shot up. "Don't concern mahself? What am Ah supposed to do? Challenge him to a thumb war? Read him his rights and expect him to go quietly? Ah don't even know what his rights would _be_."

"You will know when the time is right."

"Oh terrific. It's one of _those_ things? Can't you at least give me a hint or somethin'? Like a weak spot? Or some kind of advice?"

"Think happy thoughts."

"Right." Rogue blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and squinted further down the tunnel. All she could see was the dim glow of electric light. "Well, are we at least gettin' close?"

Irene shrugged. "I have no idea."

"Okay. Great. Ah guess we'll just keep following these tunnels. They're bound to take us somewhere."

"But will it be where we want to go?"

Rogue flicked her gaze back towards Irene and pursed her lips. "Look, you're not helpin' any. Now, unless you're gettin' any weird voodoo vibes, we'll go this way. He's gotta be pretty close. After all, how big can this place be?"

"What is the depth of your courage?"

Shaking her head, Rogue started walking again, scanning the walls for doors or any thing that might give her some hint that they were headed in the right direction. Then again, there was only one direction to head in.

She growled deep in her throat. "Ah hate all this skulking around. What the hell kinda evil lair is this anyway? Irene? Irene, what's the matter?"

The older woman had stumbled and her hands flew up to clutch her head, groaning as if in some kind of terrible pain. Forgetting all her earlier anger, Rogue immediately stepped to her side and wrapped a steadying arm around her thin shoulders.

"He is near. Can't you feel it? His terrible presence?" Irene's voice was little more than a whisper. Rogue could only shake her head. She peered down the hallway again, straining to see the danger that Irene could feel so acutely. She thought she could just make out a set of doors at the end of the tunnel but if Apocalypse was behind them, she sure as hell couldn't tell.

"Ah'll have to take your word for it. Ah think Ah see some doors up ahead. You stay here. Ah'll come back for you," she said, gently maneuvering Irene so that she could lean against the wall for support. Irene moved without protest, her fingers rubbing circular motions in her forehead. She glanced up, her milky white eyes searching through endless darkness. A small smile twisted her lips.

"Will you?" she asked, without doubt and without mockery.

Rogue stared down at the helpless woman and felt a flood of emotions run through her, each one fighting for dominance. Anger. Sorrow. Hurt. Love. She withdrew her arm from around Irene's shoulder and stepped back far enough so she could not feel her presence. The expression on Irene's face did not change though she did lift one arm slightly, as if she were searching for something. Or someone.

"Yes. Ah will," Rogue promised. And without another word she turned and headed towards the doors. As she drew closer, the doors seemed to grow in size, as if they were guarding some enormous creature. She thought she heard the scuffling of feet behind her, but when she glanced back, Irene hadn't moved. Taking a deep breath, she turned back towards the doors. They no longer seemed so large. _Ah guess this is it_, she thought and before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed on the cold metal. It gave way easily.

The room that she entered was not the room she had expected to find. It wasn't very much of a room at all, barely the size of a walk-in closet. There were no overhead lights; the only illumination came from tiny blinking blue bulbs. They lined the arms and sides of a strange looking chair that had an odd assortment of cables running from and around it.

And seated in that chair, the dim light spilling over grey skin littered with wires and tubes was Apocalypse. Rogue had only seen him once before and only for a brief moment, but his was a face that was impossible to forget. He seemed much larger seated in that chair than he had looked stretched out inside the sarcophagus hidden within the depth of the mountains. She had no idea what the cables hooked into him were for or even where they went, but she could guess that it wasn't good.

Flexing her fingers, she stepped closer, still having no idea how she was supposed to fight this monster. There weren't any weapons in the room and, for reasons that escaped her, she hadn't thought to bring any. And she certainly wasn't going to wake him up and ask if he would go quietly. Irene had said she would know when the time was right but what the hell did _that_ mean, exactly? She didn't feel any different.

"Well, here goes nothing," she muttered to herself, reaching her hands out. They shook slightly as they pressed down against his arm. The skin was smooth and cold like the metal of the door had been. She waited to feel the sharp tug of her powers, but there was nothing. Mr. McCoy's diagnosis ran through her mind and she frowned. Mystique's blocks must still be in place. The shape-shifter wasn't even there and she was still a hindrance. Rogue felt the frustration build up inside her. She had spent most of her life trying to get rid of her powers and now that they were final gone, she was trying to get them back. Her fingers curled around his forearm.

And then she felt something. A slow and hesitant tug that turned into a sluggish stream. She felt it move like syrup underneath her skin.

Then it stopped. And began to pull back.

Rogue looked up and saw the dark eyes of Apocalypse wide and staring directly at her. She tried to pull her hands back but they felt as if they were glued to his skin. The flow of energy continued to move backwards, shifting from her into him, and the pain of it burned through her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and blackness crept over her vision, swallowing her.

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When she awoke, it was to a strange sight. The dark room had been replaced by a night sky streaked with purple and orange. The walls were gone, leaving opened streets filled with crumbling buildings and other wreckage. It looked like downtown New York City after a nuclear explosion. Rogue sat up and pressed a hand to the side of her head, feeling the echoes of pain shoot through her brain.

"Where am Ah?" she asked aloud.

"The future," came the deep, rumbling response. She spun around to see Apocalypse towering behind her.

"What future?"

"My future. Your future."

As he spoke, there was the sound of gravel being crunched beneath feet. A troop of robots bearing a vague resemblance to Apocalypse marched past in perfect lines of four. From far off came the heavy boom of an explosion and the ground shook. Rogue flicked her eyes over the destruction, the waste, and then turned towards him.

"Ah don't know what kinda trick you've pulled, but this," she waved her arm towards the carnage, "ain't gonna happen."

A smile curled his lips. "And tell me, who will stop me?"

The mocking tone in his voice infuriated her and she swung out with her fist. He caught it easily in his massive hand.

"Your government? Their armies will tremble before me," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "The X-men?" At her startled expression, his smile grew. "Yes, I know all about them. Mystique seemed to consider them a threat. I consider them flies to be squashed beneath my foot. You? Will you stop me? Weak and powerless as you are?"

His voice reverberated through her head, pressing down on her with an unbearable weight. Rogue shook her head, whether in denial of his speech or to ease the pressure in her mind she didn't know. She punched out with her left fist but he caught that one as well. Laughter rang out, harsh and grating. He squeezed her hands lightly in his grip and sent her to her knees.

"Puny, miserable creature. Why do you struggle against the inevitable? It was your hand that freed me. You should be rewarded, not punished. Join me and I shall give you your desires."

Rogue grimaced at the pain that coursed through her arms. He was barely applying any pressure and yet it felt as if her bones would snap beneath his hands. It was obvious he could easily crush her like a bug. Fighting him could only mean death. Or, she could side with him. Like Mystique had.

The choice wasn't hard to make.

"Go to hell you over dressed tin man," she spat, struggling to pull her hands from his grasp.

Apocalypse stared down at her, as if he were not surprised at her refusal.

"So be it."

As if she weighed no more than a rag doll, he lifted her off the ground, swung her around in a circle, and then let go, sending her flying through the air. She felt herself falling from a terrible height and tried to search within her for some power, some ability that would halt the downward motion. That would save her.

Darkness descended once more.

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When she next opened her eyes, the darkness was still there, heavy and unbroken. It made her wonder if she was blind or if she was dead. And then she wondered which she would prefer. Either way, at least she wouldn't have to see the destruction that Apocalypse was going to bring about.

"Quit bein' so dramatic. You ain't dead, kid."

Rogue turned her head in the direction of Wolverine's gruff voice but could see nothing.

"Nor, child, are you blind."

Storm's voice was a cool contrast to Wolverine's and it came from the opposite direction. Rogue strained her eyes but there was only blackness.

"So if Ah'm not dead and Ah'm not blind, Ah guess that just leaves crazy, right? Ah cracked mah head on something and now Ah'm hearing voices."

"You've heard voices all your life Rogue. Why should this be any different?" Mystique.

Rogue felt her fingers clench. "Shut up. You're dead. Or close to it."

Laughter. "Am I? Or is it your precious Gambit who is begging for his life?"

Rogue turned her head and came face to face with Mystique. The shape-shifter had a sly smile on her face. "Or is he begging for . . . something else?"

"That's enough."

The sound of the Professor's voice was enough to cut through the rage that was building up inside of Rogue. She heard the quiet hum of his wheelchair first. A moment later he hovered out of the darkness. She blinked at him.

"Professor? What are you doin' here?"

He folded his hands on his lap and smiled his patient smile. "We are all always with you Rogue, wherever you go." As he spoke more X-men appeared out of the darkness; Wolverine, Storm, Cyclops, Forge, Shadowcat, Angel, Nightcrawler, Colossus and countless others. She stared blankly.

"Uh, not that Ah don't appreciate the whole 'we are one' mindset but frankly, it's a little creepy. And second, it still doesn't answer the question of how the heck did ya'll get here?"

"Do you know where 'here' is?"

Rogue opened her mouth to answer, then snapped it shut a moment later. "Not really."

"You're inside the mind of Apocalypse. Instead of you absorbing him, he absorbed you," the Professor explained.

"Okay." She ran a hand through her hair, tugging on it lightly. "So what are you doing here? Did he absorb ya'll too?"

Professor Xavier shook his head. "No. But you did."

A light bulb went off in Rogue's head. "So if y'all are here, then you can help me fight him. Ah bet against all of us, he'd fall faster than a pig from a maple tree."

But the Professor shook his head again. "None of us are really here. We're only shadows of your mind."

There came a crashing sound from not too far away and the Professor's face grew grave. "Listen carefully. There is not much time. He'll be here soon. It is imperative that you get out of his mind. The chair you saw earlier? It hooks him into a machine. A machine that can very well cause the destruction you see here."

Rogue felt the terror shoot up from her stomach into her throat. "How the hell do Ah get outta his mind? Ah can't fight him. Mah powers are blocked."

"The block is only physical. In your mind, you can accomplish anything."

She stared at him. "What the hell does THAT mean?"

Any answer he might have given her was cut off by an enormous arm suddenly exploding through the darkness, sending bits of concrete flying. Thick fingers closed around her waist and dragged her out into the lighted, destroyed streets. Caught in a vise-like grip, Rogue struggled to break free and seconds later found herself looking into the face of Apocalypse once more. Only now he was three times the size he had been before, a half-mechanical version of King Kong.

"You cannot hide from me in my own mind. I give you one last chance. Pledge your allegiance to me, and I shall let you live." His voice crashed over her like an ocean wave, blowing her hair back away from her face and thundering in her ears. Rogue continued her struggles, his fingers gripping her body tightly enough to make breathing difficult. It caused panic to rise up in her, to mix with the fear that had already set in. How the hell was she supposed to get out of this? There was no one to help her. She couldn't even help herself. Her eyes traveled to his massive face, grinning in apparent victory, in smug superiority, and she wanted, more than anything, to take a page from Cyclops' book and blast him right in the center of his ugly face.

She felt the heat behind her eyes. Her lips curled.

"It's a really intriguing offer, but Ah'm afraid Ah'm gonna have to decline. Ah already have a job."

And with that she left the plasma blast outward in a massive stream. It slammed into in his face and he roared in anguish. His hands released her and flew up to his face. Rogue free fell for a few seconds before hitting the ground and pitching forward. She rolled deftly out of the way of his feet as they smashed down blinding, trying to crush her beneath his soles. Flinging one hand out, she felt the air around her fingers grow cold and a stream of ice flowed through the air, settling into a pool spread out before him. Apocalypse stepped onto the slick surface, his hands still pressed against his burning eyes. Holding her arms out in front of her, she blasted off of the ground like a cannonball out of a cannon and slammed into him chest, pushing him over backwards. He fell with a tremendous rumble, sending up a cloud of dirt and debris. She ran up his chest, pulling her arm back as she went, skin turning to metal with each step she took.

His hands fell away from his face just as she reached his chin and his eyes, though raw and red, could still see her clearly.

"I am a god among peasants," he intoned.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, rearing back. "Well, the peasants just revolted."

With that her fist collided with his face, and there came a huge explosion of white light that momentarily blinded her. She heard his long, drawn out scream of denial and then, abruptly, there was silence. Blinking away the spots in her vision, she saw that she was back in the room with the machines. Apocalypse still sat in the chair, only his eyes were closed now and his head drooped onto his chest. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't wake up any minute. _Gotta destroy that machine_, she thought frantically, setting her gaze on the chair and the cables that ran from it. She tried to fire off another one of Cyclops's blasts but nothing came.

"Shit," she gasped, turning her eyes to the room, searching for anything that would help her destroy the machine that was moments away from destroying life as she knew it. There was nothing. The room was empty save for Apocalypse, the machine, and herself. She started forward, intent on ripping the wires free with her bare hands when she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

Gambit stood a few feet from the door, a pack of fresh playing cards in his hand. He held up the entire pack and they were lit with a pink fire.

"Allow me," he said lightly, tossing the pack towards the chair and at the same time, grabbing hold of her hand and tugging her out of the room. The door had just closed behind them when the explosion went off, the shockwave washing over them and sending them sprawling to the floor. A stream of flame passed over their heads, singly their backs lightly and leaving the smell of burning in the air.

With her cheek pressed against the concrete floor, Rogue looked at Gambit and smiled a huge smile. "You always show up at the best times."

Around them the earth began to tremble. They dragged each other to their feet; Gambit's arm wrapped firmly around her waist to help steady her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear just before they began to run through the collapsing tunnel.

"We gotta get outta here, cherie. You can thank me properly w'en we get outside."

"Ah'm still not sleepin' with you."

"Me'be you change your mind w'en you see de present Gambit gotchu."

"Shut up and run, swamp rat."

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Later, when they sat in the cockpit of the X-Jet, Irene safely stowed away in one the seats, her sightless eyes staring out one of the windows and the earth below them still rumbling with the aftermath of Apocalypse's recent burial, Rogue punched in the controls for the autopilot, leaned her head back against the seat, and sighed, feeling suddenly too tired to move. She lolled her head slightly to the right and saw Gambit sprawled out in his own chair, looking just about the same as she felt.

"Now what's this about a present?"

He held up one finger and pushed himself out of his chair, heading towards the back of the jet. Halfway, he turned around and motioned for her to follow him. Groaning, she got to her feet, feeling as if each of her limbs weighed a thousand pounds, and shuffled after him. She found him pulling something out of a small storage compartment.

"What the hell is—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the body of Mystique fell the floor with a clang. Rogue stared down at the bruised and bloodied corpse. Very slowly she lifted one foot and nudge the shoulder. Nothing. Tilting her head to the side, she stepped back and slammed her foot into the shape-shifter's side. Then she sighed again; this time it was a sigh of release.

Looking up, she saw Gambit standing there, arms folded across his chest, a small smile on his face. She watched him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

And then, lips curving, she crooked one finger at him beckoningly.

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Author's Note

Bah! I am so very sorry about how long it took me to get this chapter out. Rough couple weeks and some major writer's block. It didn't even come out the way I wanted. I heartily apologize to anyone who's still reading. But at least we have reached the end! A much different end then I envisioned when I started the story a couple years ago but that's kinda what you get when you stop a story in the middle then wait a year and a half before you get back to it. Anyway I want to thank everyone who has been reading the story and reviewing the story, you guys all rock. I am totally unworthy of any speck of your interest. Thanks a whole bunch.


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